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

MORE TALES FROM THE VILLE

 

Tales from the Ville: Tule Flats-Happy Trails

The Final Chapter of the Tule Flats Saga

Preparation for the 30 hour marathon weekend, the grand finale of the first season of the Tule Flats Ghost Town, were well on their way. We didn't add much more than we already had entertainment-wise, and, in retrospect, we should have done a lot more. Live music should have been an option and since it was Halloween, we could have had some sort of haunted attraction. But we had the rides, such as they were, movies in the hotel and of course, we had the gunfights scheduled to going we into the night. The thought of an after-midnight show really appealed to those of us who would have been partying heartily ourselves.  

For the last street shows of the year, I came up with a couple of newbies, the first written specifically for Grant-Lee Phillips as the Russian gunfighter character Two Gun Boris. ("I am Two Gun Boris"  "You on have one gun."  "Ha! Joke is on Boris!") It was a perfect showcase for Grant and I knew he would run with it. (I used this same character in my melodrama Song of the Lone Prairie, now Song of the Canyon Kid) The other was called The Return of the Gunfighter, a Halloween themed piece that had a pair of bullies picking on some town folk including a little kid whose father was a gunfighter who had been shot down a year before. When the kid cried, "You wouldn't do this if my pa was here!", that dead pa in question rises from the grave and shoots the two bullies down. He kisses his daughter goodbye and exits into the night. Now we needed a spectacular special effect for his entrance and subsequent exit, so Bill Humphreys came up with an idea that involved a line of gunpowder on a pair of 2x4s on either end of Main Street. When ignited, the first looked like a curtain and the zombie gunfighter (Jim Cusick dressed all in black as always) stepped through the smoke. When he left, the pyro went off after him, closing the curtain behind him. Awesome. Perfect for an evening performance. The main problem was that there wasn't a completed script because, given the time constraints, I ran out of time and felt the show could be an improv since one of our regular shows, The Boss, started that very same way. After a couple of rehearsals, I was confident enough that it would work. 

Another factor in this marathon weekend was the acquisition of a temporary license to sell beer in the town. It seemed like good idea at the time and certainly those of us that enjoyed a brew or several had no qualms about it. But when you're dealing with the general public, hoo boy. Watch this space.

That Saturday, the gates opened and we were well on our way. Attendance was way up and things went smoothly right up until about sundown. The debut of The Return of the Gunfighter went off with a lot of hitches. I was dealing with a pair of non actors in the roles of the bullies, one of which had a snoot on from dipping into the beer supply, a right he believed he had since he was one of the town's partners. As a result, the both of them had no clue what to do, jumped in far too early and basically made it a confusing mess, a major error on my part. The only things that saved it at all were those bloody special effects which got a rousing cheer from the large crowd but wasn't enough to appease my anger, mostly at myself for not being better prepared. 

Kid Blurry and Sheriff Max after hours (honest!)

As the night wore on, the brewski on tap was taking its toll on the patrons as they swiftly grew a little too rowdy and overbearing for us to wrangle.  When we staged our 10pm gunfight, the streets were packed with suds swillers left, right, over and above. We had to yell our lines at the top of our lungs to be heard, not by the audience but each other. Once that debacle was blissfully over, the decision was made to break up these boozehounds and even close to town at midnight, ending the 30 hour marathon concept. Most fols left peacefully, but the saloon was packed with inebriated owl hoots and had to be cleared.  This meant all hands on deck, so every cowboy available was ready to rustle this herd out the front gate, easier said than done. Ed Thorpe, now wearing Sheriff John's badge, thought it best to get everyone's attention by firing his pistol inside the building. Well, it sure brought everything to a halt alright until someone made an announcement along the lines of "You don't have to go home, but you can't stay here. It's closing time!" But once Ed holstered his weapon, a drunken yahoo behind him confiscated it. Cocking it, he waved the six-gun at everyone grinning like the goon that he was and backed out of the saloon onto Main Street, many of the cowboys stalking him, particularly Ed who seemed like he was ready to pistol whip this hombre once he retrieved his weapon. I had slid out behind this dipsy desperado, realizing like everyone else that this was spinning out of control fast. I have no idea what got into me but once he stepped out of the saloon and onto the street, I jumped onto his back pinning his arms to his side. He flung me back and forth, trying to throw me off but I held fast. Yee=ha! Ride 'em cowboy! This gave the other gunfighters enough time to finally snatch the gun away once and for all and said varmint was escorted off the premises along with the rest of his boozy compadres. The gates were locked for the night we went into lockdown until the regular opening time of High Noon for Day 2. 

A good steady flow of (blissfully sober) customers entered through the front gates of Tule Flats that last day of 1979. All went swimmingly after the near-boondoggle of the night before. The street shows in particular were going beautifully, especially the one (and only, for some reason) performance of Two Gun Boris. The success of that gunfight more than made up for the mess of the other new show the night before. That one may have had some spectacular fireworks to make up for its lack of anything else, but Two Gun Boris had Grant-Lee Phillips in the title role, the best special effect of all.

The last gunfight of the day and season was to be Saddle Drop, a gunfight that had been performed since day one of the original Ghost Town. I thought it was time to give this show a decent burial, a chestnut that had pretty much worn out its welcome as far as I was concerned, no matter what we added to it over time. For example, we added a bit when the sheriff gives his adversary a fighting chance by allowing him three free shots, knowing full well that he would miss which, of course, he does. The gags were usually a bell ringing for shot number one, a rubber chicken falling into the middle of the street for number two and a cowboy falling off the hotel onto a rigged wagon behind the bad guy for shot number three. But for the final shot that afternoon, bodies fell everywhere, the rest of the cowboys who weren't in the show and a few spare Ghost Town employees as well, one end of the street to the other all the way down to the hotel where, of course, somebody fell off the balcony one last time. Then everyone, the entire cast and then some, gathered together in the middle of the street in a circle, arms around each other and sang the great Roy Rogers classic "Happy Trails" for the audience, for ourselves and for the Ghost Town itself. 

And with that, Tule Flats Ghost Town rode off into the sunset after season numero uno. And while it reopened the next year, several changes had come down the pike. The four partners basically split up and a few key cast members had moved on, so the magic of 1979 had worn off, settling back into the way things used to be once again. Eventually, the town reverted back to the ownership of Neil Pollard, changing the name back to the original Pollardville Ghost Town as it remained until finally closing down altogether in 2007.  

The inaugural season of Tule Flats was actually a coda of my Freshman year at Pollardville University. So much of what I learned on the dusty streets of that town gave me the necessary tools to move on to the next chapter of my "academic" life including crowd work, comedic timing, character building, not to mention Writing and Directing 101. If it wasn't for the Ghost Town, I wouldn't have been able to accomplish what I did going forward. I still have my hat, holster and six-gun stashed away to remind me of who I was and always will be, a weekend cowboy through and through.

Happy trails to you until we meet again in the Ghost Town of my memory

The first five chapters of the Tule Flats saga, as well as other Pollardville stories from the Ghost Town and Palace Showboat can be found at:

TALES FROM THE VILLE

or individually:

THE BEGINNING

IN THE SUMMERTIME

THE ELECTION

I SHOT THE SHERIFF

OH, BLACK WATER

Toodle-loo, '22!

This year, a show called Reboot premiered on Hulu. It's quite good actually, all about a revival of a supposedly beloved TV sit-com and I highly recommend it. However, the concept pretty much sums up the year 2022 for me. It all felt like a reboot. Look what happened. Inflation, the overturning of Roe v. Wade,  another uselessly overblown mid-term elections which don't mean thing since neither side got much swing, the Russians taking a u-turn for the worst as our favorite villains of the modern age and bringing with them the threat of nuclear war and so one and so frigging forth. Yep, a reboot...and like most of them, not as good as the original.

I suppose it's what we should have expected as we struggle to find our way out of the Neverending Story known as the bloody Pandemic. We lost so much ground and haven't gained much back in return. Two steps forward, one step back. (Thank you, Paula Abdul) More often than not, the numbers are reversed. When are we ever going get back up where we belong? (When am I going to stop referencing pop songs to make a point?) The world is wound so tightly that it's a only a matter of time when it breaks down altogether. Again.

So what to do, kids? Well, it is that time of year (you know, the end?) when we think that a change of the calendar will wipe the slate clean and we can start fresh once more. And after a few weeks, sometimes merely days, we come to the realization that we're just fooling ourselves. Why else do we make resolutions that we don't keep? Sunday ain't gonna be much different than last Sunday, let alone the day before. It hurts to be futile about the future.

Is it hope? Is this all we have left to hang everything upon? Faith? Are we so obstinate that we won't give in no matter what? Or, plain and simply, are we all clueless?

All of the above. And I'm right there beside you because I'm guilty of the same. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. Fool me every single time...aw, leave me alone...

But right when I'm ready to surrender to the onslaught of negativity and find myself searching for a permanent home amongst the downtrodden, I slam on the brakes, dropping all pretense and recall the words my four year old granddaughter Athena bestowed upon me on our last visit to Denver.

"Whenever I have a bad time, I tell myself to get over it and I move on."

Four years old. 

Yesterday on my drive home, I listened to a song from someone I am proud to call my friend, the brilliant singer/songwriter Grant-Lee Phillips  That tune, "Walking in the Green Corn", the title track from the album of the same name, sums it all up for how I am entering 2023. Yep, another song reference, but this time with a purpose. 

I'm going in, ready to combat whatever comes my way with every bit of optimism and hope that I can muster up. After all, in order to thrive, you first have to survive and I'm in it for the long haul. 

What do I think will happen in 2023?

Who knows? I sure don't.

Time will tell.

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: 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: 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

2018: Well, That's Over

2018 will go down as...another year. There were extreme highs and severe lows, much like any other
and time marches on like an endless parade with rapidly deflating balloons and floats that have seen better days than this one. But since we have to leave some kind of mark on the world, I'll give you a few of the better things that I experienced this year, pop culture-wise, my field of expertise that needs some serious weeding. You want the bad stuff? Look elsewhere. Try Facebook. You'll have a field day.

As always, keep in mind that these are my favorites things that I encountered in 2018, not necessarily that were released this year. 

FILM

SHAPE OF WATER 

Guillermo del Toro's Oscar winning film won my heart over as no other did, a perfect birthday present to myself.  See blog post

DUNKIRK

Christopher Nolan's masterful WW II epic confirmed him as one of the finest filmmakers of this generation.

ISLE OF DOGS

Do I have any "Best..." of lists that don't include Wes Anderson? Uh-uh.

THE BALLAD OF BUSTER SCRUGGS

The same can be said of the Coen Bros. And it is. 

THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WIND

Orson Welles' final film, finished by other hands, finally arrived after a 40 year wait, filled to the brim with brilliance and pretension, at times infuriatingly annoying, often jaw-droppingly fabulous. After another viewing, which some might consider an endurance test, I'll have more to say, but for now, I can only bow in respect. Catch the companion documentary THEY'LL LOVE ME WHEN I'M DEAD on Netflix as well.

TV

THE HAUNTING OF HILL HOUSE, BABYLON BERLIN and TABULA RASA

Three on Netflix top my list of faves. HILL HOUSE is probably the best ghost story ever committed to the small screen (well done, Mike Flanagan). BERLIN is a brilliant German series set in the days between the World Wars while RASA is another one of them ferrin' shows, this time from Belgium that I fell head over heels in love with. See blog post 

. 

THE AMERICANS

Ending on such a terrific note, a case study on how to wrap up a series

TRUST

This Getty kidnapping saga on FX featured a career defining performance by Donald Sutherland

THE TERROR and LODGE 49

Two swell AMC shows, one a 19th century thriller set in search of the Northwest Passage and the other, almost a prequel to THE BIG LEBOWSKI

MUSIC 

Grant Lee Phillips's WIDDERSHINS has to be my favorite album of the year, particularly the song "The Wilderness" while the best tune of the year had to be Nathaniel Ratecliff's haunting melancholic

"You Worry Me" moved me like none other.

BOOKS

FICTION

THE BARTENDER'S TALE by Ivan Doig

An author I had been unaware of until recently won me over with this coming of age tale set in Montana

THE TWELVE LIVES OF SAMUEL HAWLEY By Hannah Tinti

Many books I read this year dealt with parental issues for some reason, this one standing out from all the rest

NON-FICTION

THE AVIATORS by Winston Groom

From the author of FORREST GUMP, of all books, comes this superb telling of Charles Lindbergh, Jimmy Doolittle and Eddie Rickenbacker

ROBIN by Dave Itzkoff

I finished this soon after the death of Anthony Bourdain, a suicide that hit me as close to home as Robin Williams' did as few years before. Maybe that has something to do with my admiration of this book, but mostly because Itzkoff found a way to tell Robin's tale with all the warts exposed and with the respect he deserved.

So that's the good stuff I exposed myself to (careful...) while there was many others moments to cherish in 2018. First and foremost, the birth of my little warrior granddaughter Athena came into the world to claim it as her own. While I only had two of my plays produced this year, they landed on the same weekend, something else I toasted in celebration. I began work in earnest on a long-gestating novel of which I'm still putting together.

I lost a good lifelong friend in Glen Chin, a man whose heart and spirit were as huge as his talent and damn near lost another, giving me that feeling of mortality that keeps rearing its head as the clock continues to tick, tick, tick. Has this given a new perspective on the world? No. But if stop being selfish enough to realize that there's more to life outside of my narrow vision, I might just get out of this, certainly not alive, but with enough hope left behind for those I truly care about. Their numbers rise and lower with the tides...and so do I.

Cryptic comments for the end of 2018. Bring on the last year of new century teens.

NEXT!

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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Spring Things

Finally coming out of my hibernation unit to  live whatever life I've got left. (That's another benefit of age. You can get as bleak as you want as time passes and nobody bats an eye.) But it's springtime, y'all! Love is in the air and so is an assload of pollen. But don't let me rain on your parade...oops. I'm in Oregon. It rains on our frickin' parades all the time. It's like living in the rain forest. Except with parades.

I had the honor once again to see my friend Grant-Lee Phillips when his tour with Kristin Hersh blew through Portland. I sat in awe with my buddy Bob Gossett as we witnessed this amazingly talented singer/songwriter mesmerize his audience with that distinctively soulful voice of his echoing through the halls of the Old Church concert venue. (The Old Church is literally that: an old church. And they serve alcohol. because it's Portland.) Grant's latest album, WIDDERSHINS, has just been released, and is almost a call-back to his previous incarnation with his band Grant Lee Buffalo. I haven't heard him rock out like this in quite awhile. From what I've read, he recorded this four freaking days in what must have been a real purge. Grant's songs were inspired by-or should I say a rebuttal to-current events. The song that resonates with me the most is "The Wilderness", though I can say the same for "Master of Catastrophes" and the sensational anthem "Liberation". After wrapping up his US tour, Grant's off to Europe and Australia.There's something super human about this guy.

GRANT LEE PHILLIPS WEBSITE

Taking a couple of much needed days off to regroup and recharge before I regurgitate, nothing gets me back to where I want to be more than a good film experience and this time was no exception. My movie of choice was Wes Anderson's stop motion masterwork ISLE OF DOGS, a delight from beginning until end, Nobody makes films like Anderson and I am so glad to live in the same world that he does. If I didn't know better, I would say that he makes films just for me and me alone. Shot n the same manner as his adaptation of Roald Dahl's THE FANTASTIC MR.FOX, this fable is a riff on dystopia, pets. Japan and loyalty with that ever meticulous Wes Anderson flair.

This cherry on top of this banana split called 2018 is that the Rio Linda Elverta Community Theater in California is producing MURDER: THE FINAL FRONTIER the first weekend in June. Even though this is the only booking I have this year (so far), I consider it a gift that keeps on giving and I am extremely grateful for this opportunity. More about this later, but for now...HUZZAH!


We now return you to our regularly scheduled reality already in progress.

Labor Pains

As Labor Day signals the end of another summer, it's time to sit back and reflect on the season gone by.

Well, that was quick.

The record heat this year is responsible for losing me as a fan of summertime. I don't do extremes very well any longer. Maybe I should move into a nice temperature-controlled mall. On the other hand, life was certainly a lot easier with the miracle of air-conditioning. (You can blame me personally for destroying the planet, greenies) We've lived in a rented townhouse for the past nine years, originally through a property management group. When we moved in, we were informed there was no central air. Fine and dandy, we thought. We had already lived in an apartment w/o said amenity, making do with ceiling fans. This place had no such appliance in any room. My son Matt graciously donated his two box fans that we placed strategically in the house. We made due with what we had. Besides, this is Oregon. It never gets above 90 for very long. Who needs anything else? It's like umbrellas here. They're for rain-sensitive pussies. Cut to: Last Year at this time. The townhouse owners decided to wisely show the property management group to the curb due to their gross incompetence (Their name is The Alpine Group, by the way. If you're in the market for a new abode, steer clear of these maroons.) The owners took over the lease and after our initial meeting, they inquired as to how the place was holding up. For example:

"How's the air conditioning working?" they asked.

"We don't have air conditioning," we scoffed.

"You'd better have air conditioning. We paid for it."

The owner walked over to the thermostat and flipped the switch. For the first time in eight years in this home, we had air conditioning.

Thank goodness for that. Egg on the face is so much worse in the heat.

I didn't attend one movie this summer, the first time in forever. There was nothing I felt compelled to run out to the cinema that I couldn't wait for at home. Isn't that a sad state of affairs? Even worse was another fatal shooting in Louisiana, echoing the psychotic Colorado rampage that finally made its way through the courts. On top of that, when I do finally visit a local cinema, it will a solo affair as per my usual. I allowed a nitwitted Facebook posting to take me aback, proclaiming that "There a guy sitting behind us in the theater...AND HE'S ALL BY HIMSELF! OMG! I CAN'T RELAX AND ENJOY THE MOVIE! WHAT IF HE...???". 

I don't know. Told you to put your fucking phone away during the movie, you dumb-ass doorknob. But that's not what kept me out of the theaters this summer. Product and product alone. Sequels, remakes and bland blah blah blah.

Naturally, that other thing didn't help matters any. Paranoia, justified or not, can't help but creep into what used to be considered our general well-being. Profiling can't be avoided when the guilty parties fir the same demographic.But those that don't are seen as predatory time-bombs, ready to snatch your kids and/or waste everyone with the same vigor as aggressively taking out the garbage.

So no film outings for me this summer, but I wasn't a complete shut-in.

Fortunately I managed to see Grant-Lee Phillips this last May in concert at the Alberta Rose Theater in Portland, performing with Steve Holtz, a fine singer/songwriter in his right. After yet another amazing set by this artist I'm proud to call my friend, I had an all-too brief but still gratifying reunion with Grant. He gave me a copy of his 2012 album WALKING IN THE GREEN CORN, another sensational solo work that I highly recommend, containing one of his most beautiful compositions, "Bound to this World". Yeah, I'm three years late to this party. What else is new? Besides, is there an expiration date on art?

GRANT LEE PHILLIPS' WALKING IN THE GREEN CORN

In the meantime, the world continues to back up my proclamation that 2015 is the Year of the Sap. Need I really mention Trump? I think not. How about the other occupants of the clown car known as the Republican presidential contenders? Hillary ain't looking so good, but I don't think she ever did. Christ, will she win by default? Bernie Sanders is this election's Dennis Kucinich and Dopey Joe...oh, say it isn't so. It looks like I am probably sitting this election out and will be proud to admit it. Add this to the ongoing shit storm of cop killings, black people killings, religious crackheads, sandwich pedophiles, moralistic hackers, transcendental transgenders...it all makes me want to yell "Uncle!" 

But I won't, Not just yet. There's a balance in my world at least.

I haven't mentioned the stage productions of my melodramas because I have done so ad nauseam. I'll only say that it was indeed a swell season professionally and it's even sweller to able to say those words. (See previous post- A MELO SUMMER)

The BIG event of the summer was the visitation of family members far and wide when I got immersed in major grandpa love from my three grandchillun. That's the icing on the cake known as Summer 2015 and my life in general. It's a well-worn cliche to say that one most focus on us on what is best in life. No, Conan, it's not to crush your enemies, see them drive before you and to hear the lamentations of their women. Those are pretty sweet, but at this point in my time here on Earth, I take solace in this:. I have a great family and feel blessed to be a part of it. They manage to center this oft-kilter life of mine and the time in which I exist. Things could always be better until I am in their embrace. Then I realize that this is the best of all possible worlds. Everything else can take a powder.

So long, Summer

Bring on the Fall.

2013: It Was What It Was

Another hoary year-end wrap-up? Yes,please!          

                                                              
After all, nobody's hoarier than I am. Or is that whore-ier?

2013 will be known as the year we got our collective panties in such a wad that they may never unravel  Pontificate all you want about social media giving everyone a voice, however anonymous, but we're all speaking at the same time and nobody is listening to each other unless they are in agreement. The loudest of the bunch are usually the most ignorant and that's what becomes the meme. (2013 is also the year I first used the word meme in a sentence) It's all so deafening.

Then Nelson Mandela dies, a man who faced adversity and struggle like no man in modern times, then was able to rise above it all by his shear humanity.His passing should have given us pause to reflect on his example of how a life should be lived.
We paused all right, just long enough to collect our thoughts on the Duck Dynasty debacle.
Heaviest of all possible sighs..............................................................................................
See? I'm as guilty as the rest. I couldn't wait to lambaste the moronic opinions of others. Stop the vicious cycle, I want to get off!

Enough of this hoo-hah. Let's talk about the good and the hell with the bad and the ugly for the time being, otay? Otay!
This is an incomplete list, but these selection definitely deserve your attention.

Favorite Album of the Year
I honestly did not listen to very much music this year. Nothing really grabbed me, so I have to take a step back to 2009 for Grant-Lee Phillips' LITTLE MOON, which counts because I hadn't heard it until now. In full disclosure, yes, I know Mr. Phillips, even though I've never called him Mr. Phillips. Even if I wasn't a friend, I'd still be his fan. But never have I experienced the unbridled optimism that emanates from this collection of tunes. The unconditional love Grant expresses to his new born daughter in "Violet" as well as the pure joy of being alive in "Good Morning Happiness" warmed the cockles of this aging cynic's heart.

Switching gears abruptly...
Favorite Horror Film
Not a genre I follow as I once did, decent horror films are few and far between for my tastes these days. I'm not usually up for treasure hunts. However, a couple of titles caught my attention. The name Guillermo del

Toro's name attached to MAMA piqued my interest enough for a late night viewing that paid off in spades. Andres Muschietti's film delivered some damn creepy goods to my psyche. On the other hand, DREAM HOME, was definitely the NASTIEST damn picture I saw this year. When I say nasty, I'm talking brutal, over the top, crossing the line way too far violence as I've never seen before and hopefully never will again. However, Ho-Cheung Pang's film is also the best indictment of the housing crisis I've seen. A political conscious splatter movie...be warned. This shit is brutal

Best Male Performance
Damn you, Matthew McConaughey. Now that you've finally decided to act instead of pose, I'm forced to spell your name correctly. Dick. And he's superb in Jeff Nichol's MUD.
Best Female Performance
Hands down-Tatiana Maslany in ORPHAN BLACK. Seeking this show out, first airing on BBC America, is well worth your time.
Favorite Film
I'll be damned. I don't have one this year. My favorite is last year's DJANGO UNCHAINED, so that's going to have to do it unless I see something in the next few days. As it stands, Tarantino gave me the best time I had at the movies all year.
Favorite Books
Three titles: & SONS by David Gilbert, a sweeping saga of a famous author's children that make Jonathan Frazen's work pale in comparison, is my number one, followed by Michael Chabon's super-duper ode to the East Bay TELEGRAPH AVENUE and Michael Daly's TOPSY, a fascinating and cruel tale of circus elephants that PETA probably has in their permanent collection. Of course, my guiltiest pleasure of the year had to be Alan Goldsher's PAUL IS UNDEAD: THE BRITISH ZOMBIE INVASION. Sounds incredibly insipid, but it works. I'll be damned if Goldsher doesn't get it right. Well done.

On a personal front, 2013 saw the publication of my new book, SONG OF THE CANYON KID as well as the announcement of a new production of the play from which it's based set for summer 2014. Those came in just under the wire. So, hooray for me.

I lost a couple of friends at almost the same time. Ray Rustigian, a crony from my Pollardville days and Doug Hansen, a fair and decent human being that I had the privilege to know in the past couple of years. I mention him because he deserves to honored in some manner just for being a good guy. Isn't that enough?
Biggest highlight of 2013 was the trip to Colorado this past summer, spending time with my daughter and son-in-law and most of all, my too-gorgeous-for-mere-words granddaughter who owns my heart and it's hers to keep. Combine this with the rest of my incredible family that makes me, like Goerge Bailey, the richest man in town.

So see? 2013 was what it was. It was frustrating. It was rewarding. It was aggravating. It was inspiring. It was annoying. It was the year I fell in love again.

Happy New Year to all and to all a good night.
Bring on the Proseco.

Ladies and Gentlemen...The Palace Showboat Players (2010 Edition)

It's been close to a month since the magical land known as Pollardville ( or what was left of it) has been demolished into history, lock, stock and barrel-or theater, ghost town and restaurant. All that remains is the tower that once a mighty chicken stood at its tip like an angel on a giant Christmas tree. It's the end of the Ville as we know it.

As an ex-Ghost Town gunslinger and former Palace Showboat Player, I found it sadder that Pollardville sat in decaying ruins for the past several years than when it was finally put out of its misery. After the last Pollardville reunion in 2007, it was tough to say goodbye, but I made my peace with it and walked away, never to return. I wasn’t there for the demolition either and didn’t really want to watch any news footage since I thought it might be like watching the autopsy of a close relative. Curiosity won out and I relented, observing the process online from the Stockton Record website while fellow Pollardvillian Tom Amo, one of the few who witnessed the event, gave the last words on the matter to the various media outlets on the scene, like this one here.


But rather than give yet another obituary on the Ville, I recalled that back in 2006, I posted another blog, not about the past, but more about today and the accomplishments of my comrades in arms. (That post, if you are inclined to read it is archived as: There's No People Like Show People) I've noticed that. as of late, my friends are in a very creative period and I for one want to not only applaud them but toot their horns like the Tijuana Brass.


In recent months , I've mentioned our first Oscar nominee, Jeremy Renner of THE HURT LOCKER as well Grant-Lee Phillips, now touring the Planet Earth as a real-life traveling troubadour, kind of a riff on his character on GILMORE GIRLS while promoting his latest work
LITTLE MOON.


Here's an update on what some of the rest of that ol' gang o' mine is up to these days:

Our first Emmy winner, Bill Humphreys, has made his big screen directorial debut with JUST SAY LOVE, now hitting the festival circuit across the country.


Christian Berdahl continues to have considerable success in the Christian market. (Yes, Christian the Christian. I get it. So does he.) His latest release is THE APPEARING-HEAVEN'S LAMB.

Kim Docter Luke is quite an excellent writer in her own write (boy, can I turn a phrase) with 2-count 'em-2 one act plays (ALL SKATE and THE EDGE REVISITED) in 2-count 'em-2 separate theaters in San Francisco. Check out some of her recent blog posts at her spot on the dial called
MADAME LUKE . That is, unless she's out on the roller derby track as her alter-ego Mildred Fierce, a proud member of the Santa Cruz Rollergirls.

Charlee Simons has just scored the coveted afternoon drive DJ gig at Sacramento's FM country station 101.9-The Wolf as well as running his own production company Good Boy, Buster Productions.

Jim Walsh is helping put together the Peace and Justice Network (PJN) ins Stockton.

Matt Kenney's still rockin' SoCal venues with The Matt Kenney Band.

In Northern California, bassist extraordinaire A.J. Joyce and John "Wizard Fingers" Wilder are kickin' up the jams with their various respective gigs.

Then sometimes something comes out of the blue that you never expected but it makes you immediately rise to your feet and start cheering. Our own Scott Duns has pulled off what most of us have dreamed about ever since we were able to dream at all. He has just completed his very first starring role in a feature film, BAD FAITH, a film that he also written, directed and produced. This is the epitome of a true labor of love that you not only have to admire, but to also respect. To top it off, the Duns kid is having a private screening at the classic cinema known as the Crest Theater in Sacramento. Nothing could be better than that.

This is but an sampling of the few, the proud, the talented that passed through the Pollardville portal at one time or another. There are several others that have performed in one form or another since their stay at the Ville and have had their own triumphs that are equally well-deserved. They only need to stand up and be counted so they too can get the applause they deserve as well.

As the Ville no longer exists on the physical plane, its spirit still lives on thanks to its ongoing legacy known as The Palace Showboat Players.

Long live the Ville.

Readin', Writin' an' Ramblin'

Last Saturday I re-entered the arena with my very first author appearance at the library here in Hillsboro, Oregon. (Arena? Yeah, it was a real Thunderdome) To say it went swimmingly would be both an under and over statement. That's me alright. Under and over, around and through.

Over-wise, it was a small (nay, minuscule) affair with only a handful in attendance, most of which I filled myself (totally grateful for all family and friends that showed).The library events director, the person who helped put this together, said that author readings tend to have very small audiences and that I shouldn't take it personally, which I didn't. She seemed to be pleased that anyone showed at all, which I also didn't take to heart.

From the under-side, I have riding on a cloud ever since. Maybe it's not Cloud 9, but a cumulus none the less, billowy enough for a comfortable trip around the ego. My nerves were pretty much shot going into this day. There has been the inherent fear that I just don't have it in me anymore because I've waited too long to get my own show on the road. I seemed to have forgotten who I was, almost as if I was running away from the real Scott Cherney. Maybe that's why I turned my talk into a near retrospective, a dip into Lake Me and hopefully not delivering my own eulogy. What's closer to the truth was what that day represented to me in general. I told the "crowd" that I was proud to be a part of the library not only that day but to have my works, my books on a library shelf. It's all about validation and for the first time in awhile, I felt comfortable being in my own skin. The road to find myself had led to the Hillsboro Library on Saturday, February 27, 2010. Nervous? You bet your ass I was nervous. I had no one other than my wife to express my trepidation and even that I kept to a minimum.

When Grant-Lee Phillips visited Portland in January for a concert, I expressed my anxiety over lunch and felt rather embarrassed that I used my friend as a therapeutic backboard. I mentioned it on the dreaded Facebook and fortunately I know a lot of great people who gave me some much needed encouragement even though I felt so insipidly needy about mentioning my stage fright at all. But hey, I had a lot riding on it. The stakes were my very existence. Fine. I made a u-turn into overstatement again. So sue me. It's my life. I know what it all meant. Part of me actually wanted to fail so I could go back to my non-existence, but fortunately, the real me prevailed and won the day.

I done good.

To paraphrase from my own book PLEASE HOLD THUMBS, since Saturday afternoon, I realized I wasn't dead to the world after all. I am alive.

Now it's time to move forward.

PLEASE HOLD THUMBS is now available in paperback and Kindle at Amazon