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 was 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

 

Look What I Can Do!

Asking the world to acknowledge a milestone in one's life and/or career is pretty much the equivalent of acting like Stuart from the old MAD TV. "Look what I can do!" Sure, it's self-serving, but if I don't serve myself, who is?

A little history first. (Take notes. There's going to be a test.) Having had the privilege of having three melodrama scripts produced at my late, lamented and dearly beloved Palace Showboat Dinner Theater at Pollardville in Stockton, California, I wanted to share with other like-minded theaters in the country (nay, the world!). I first submitted them to various play publishers without any success whatsoever. So, after a helluva lotta research, I approached theaters one at a time. A couple of times I hit pay dirt, though the second one actually produced it without either contacting myself or my co-author on LA RUE'S RETURN, thereby trying to get away without paying us. When Ed the Pitbull went after them, threatening legal action, we were compensated handsomely. Once the Internet kicked in, I dove in and tried, tried, tried again with one production to show for all my efforts. I ended up self-publishing my scripts. My rationale was that I had to get my work out there, hoping for something, sometime, somewhere.

It wasn't until the Fall of 2013 when I was contacted by Nova Cunningham (no relation to Opie) who was the marketing director of the Great American Melodrama and Vaudeville Theatre in Oceano, CA. She found my script, SONG OF THE LONE PRAIRIE online and wanted to produce as their 2014 summer production. The only stipulation was that the title would be changed to SONG OF THE CANYON KID. Well, I was just about to publish my novelization of LONE PRAIRIE (a silly experiment of mine) that I re-titled SONG OF THE CANYON KID. I saw a possible tie-in here, that, alas, never transpired, but my head was in the clouds once again. Naturally, I told Nova yes and lo and behold, a third act of my life was created on the spot.

I started re-channeling my efforts and sure enough, my gamble paid off. THE CANYON KID not only played that summer, but another production ran concurrently with it in Jamestown, CA. LA RUE'S RETURN also found a new stage in Missouri and, as the cherry on top, was slated to be the 2015 Summer attraction at the Great American Melodrama. From there, I was off and running with a an interesting off-ramp into the world of murder mystery dinner theater as well and finally having three of my scripts published at long last by OFF THE WALL PLAYS. 

So thank you, Nova Cunningham, wherever the hell you are in this world, for my first big break since the Pollardville days which has culminated in having my plays produced from one end of the US of A to the other. 2024, my official anniversary year, promises to be one of the best yet. More news of that to come here and on my other blog MURDER, MELODRAMA AND MORE!

The main thing I've learned from the experience is that if you fancy yourself to be a writer, get your work out of the shadows. No one will find it if you've hidden it away from the world. Not knowing does no one any good, least of all yourself. Sometimes, showing up is half the battle.

So Happy Anniversary to me. Let the festivities begin!

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

Love Ya, Max

I'm procrastinating. I don't want to do this. I'd rather call my best friend Max and and catch up as we always do on the weekend. Even if there was nothing new to discuss, we'd always have something to talk about-the past, the present, the future and everything in between. Whether it be trivial nonsense, deep philosophical ruminations or, more often than not, silly ass jokes at each other's expense or better yet, someone's else's, we'd fill up that time, have a laugh or two or several, maybe share a lump in the throat and always conclude that call with the words "love ya".

But I can't do that. You see, Ed Thorpe died last week. My best friend of fifty three years. My brother. 

Gone. Just like that. 

We've known each other since the sixth grade at Grover Cleveland Elementary in Stockton, CA. I believe he arrived mid-year after his dad schlepped he and his older brother up from Los Angeles. We were both in the same grade but different classes. I became aware of Ed almost immediately since he got into a fight on his first day of school. It wasn't long before we hung out together during recess, not interacting with each other too very much until one day, I wanted to make points with my comedic skills. I would sneak out of bed and catch the first half-hour of The Tonight Show. If Johnny Carson was performing his Carnac the Magnificent bit, I would write down the best jokes and repeat them to my pals during recess. Carnac was the great seer, soothsayer and sage who would mentally give answers to questions sealed inside an envelope. Typical joke: Siss, boom, bah. (opens envelope) Describe the sound made when a sheep explodes. When I read the previous night's bit the next day, I'd give the answer Carson-style when suddenly it was repeated, just like Ed McMahon did for Johnny. Surprised, I turned to see, not McMahon, but Ed Thorpe joining in. The other guys in the group didn't do it because, basically, they couldn't. But Ed did. He got it. Therefore, he got me and vice versa. From that moment on, we were off and running. 

That was the beginning of decades of in-jokes, obscure references and esoterica that formed the groundwork of our relationship, shorthand, if you will, almost a secret language in our own private club, a problem for many an outsider who felt left out of the conversation, but, hey, them's the breaks.  Keep up or keep out cuz when we were on a roll, we weren't gonna put on the brakes until we damn well felt like it.

A long-lasting friendship such as ours weathers many ups, downs and storms a'plenty. Even this year, we had a knockdown drag-out fight about this goddamn pandemic. I was fretting, as usual, over the state of things, trying to vent my frustration and fear over all this crap when he told me, flat out, there was nothing I could do about it. Me, being Mr. Irrational, took this as a dismissal of my feelings and state of mind. He felt I was doing the same to him and the shouting commenced ending with a hang-up that still resonates. The problem is, you can't disconnect a smart phone by slamming down the receiver.  The end result was a stalemate between two grumpy old men on the same page, but different paragraphs. 

Eventually, we kissed and made up and got over it like always. But his words stuck with me, especially now. 

He's dead and there's nothing I can do about it. There's a piece missing from my heart, a big hole or vacant lot where a mighty building once stood. Sorry. That's prime real estate. I have to refill it and I will try to do so with the memories we shared after fifty odd years and channel them into that empty space for as long as my brain will allow. Believe me, there's enough there for sustainability. And it isn't just the reminiscences, but their implications and significance as well, be they good, bad or ugly. In the end, it all came down to complete brotherly love. Unfortunately, it's all recyclable material and a poor substitute for the real thing. 

I will feel forever in debt to Ed for all that he's brought to my life, leading me on paths I never knew existed. Had it not been for him, I never would have ended up at Pollardville. It was he who became my Sherpa into that Shangri-La between Stockton and Lodi, leading me through the open gates of the Ghost Town and onto the magical deck of the Palace Showboat. He had such a (literally) undying passion for that place that culminated in the last reunion show back in 2007 right before the House that Pollard Built closed up shop for good. The final production on that stage was such a labor love for him and it showed from beginning until the very bittersweet, touch grand finale. It was Ed's magnum opus, an accomplishment that he was unabashedly proud.

He was so much more in his life and times. While serving in the United States Navy, he traveled the world and became a skilled and accomplished respiratory therapist. His work with AA allowed him to overcome his addictions and help so many others over the years, saving several lives in the process. He was a true force of good in this often cynical world. A little over ten years ago, he reunited with his daughter, Justine. I was so glad he was able to experience something that I myself cherish-the joy of grandpahood when he was blessed with a grandson named James. As such, the legend continues.

Through all his trials and tribulations, certainly with his health problems in the last few years, Ed knew that life was worth living. He had so many obstacles that he had to endure and through it all, he recognized himself as a survivor. "Bring it on," he once told me.

And brought upon him it was, one last time on Monday, November 30, 2020. 

Should you, whoever's reading this, have someone in your life as I have had with Ed, whether it be a friend, a sibling, mother, father or any sort of relative, a lover, husband or wife, whoever occupies a space in your heart, mind and soul, it will enrich and reward you until the day you too will pass from this earth.  You will be a better person for it just as I have been for knowing Edward Alan Thorpe.

Now I have to wrap up and I don't want to do that either. I can't say goodbye because, frankly, I don't wanna. So I will merely sign off as we always did.

I will talk to youse later.

Love ya, Max

 

Curtain Calls

Currently, there's not much business in show business. This is certainly true of live theater presentations. Broadway is still totally dark and theater companies around the world, dependent of having butts in seats, have had their seasons postponed, truncated or cancelled altogether. The Great White Way will probably bounce back due to the big bucks that are backing them, but what about those on a local level, your community and regional theaters, both amateur and professional show folk? And when and if they do return, how will they not only adapt, but survive at all?

I've been involved with the thea-teh most of my life, both on and off the stage, the latter of which some might see as a blessing. ("Yeah, he belongs on the stage alright...the first one leaving town!")
The thing is I believe it is a viable art form, one that can be embraced on every level of society, hence, its longevity in an era when virtual is beginning to take hold. Sometimes, theater seems to be clinging on for its very life. Then there's a resurgence and once again, the hills are alive with the sound of applause as life in the theater goes on and on.

The following theater groups have been very, very good to me in the past few years I've enjoyed as a produced and now published playwright. I want to return the favor to these good people by showcasing them here with links to their websites or Facebook pages. Give them a click, check them out, show your support. If they're in your area, so much the better. Stand behind them. They're good for the community. They're also good for business.

These are the the theater groups that are, as of this writing, still in operation. Click 'em, give 'em a look, support 'em if you can.

GRAHAM REGIONAL THEATRE  GRAHAM, TEXAS

THE GREAT AMERICAN MELODRAMA THEATRE  OCEANO, CA

MANTORVILLE THEATRE COMPANY MANTORVILLE, MINNESOTA

SANZMAN PRODUCTIONS  LOS ANGELES, CA

RIO LINDA/ELVERTA COMMUNITY THEATER  RIO LINDA, CA

THEATRE SUBURBIA  HOUSTON, TEXAS

GOLDEN CHAIN THEATRE  OAKHURST, CA

DELTON ACT DELTON, MICHIGAN

STAGECOACH THEATRE  LOUDON COUNTY, VIRGINIA

SAN LUIS VALLEY THEATRE COMPANY   FORT GARLAND, COLORADO

MT. VERNON COMMUNITY THEATRE  MT. VERNON, MISSOURI 

ACTORS STUDIO INC. BAKER CITY, OREGON

BRICKSTREET COMMUNITY PLAYERS  CLOVIS, NEW MEXICO

BRAZOS THEATRE OF WACO  WACO, TEXAS

AVENUE THEATER  WEST PLAINS, MISSOURI

SUGAR HIGH THEATRICALS  GALESBURG, ILLINOIS

ROGUE THEATER  STURGEON BAY, WISCONSIN 

CHEYENNE LITTLE THEATER PLAYERS  CHEYENNE, WYOMING

BLACK BART PLAYERS (now MURPHYS CREEK PLAYHOUSE) MURPHYS, CA

TAKE A BOW, PEOPLE!

Those that didn't make the list are no longer in operation, such as the late, great Palace Showboat Theater at Pollardville in Stockton, CA where it all began for me, Mel O' Drama Theater in Nashville where the angel who walks on Earth, Mel Roady convinced me to write a couple of goofy-ass murder mysteries, the Foothill Theater Company in Jamestown, CA and the Gaslight Theatre in Campbell, CA.

Also a big shout to another of my own stomping grounds, STOCKTON CIVIC THEATRE in Stockton, CA where a lot of my friends and former colleagues are still hoping to trod the boards once again.

These are but a few. There are more out there than you can imagine. Try this link for more info about community theaters across the country.

AMERICAN ASSOCIATION OF COMMUNITY THEATRE

To all of you out there-actors, singers, dancers, musicians, writers, directors, producers, stage hands
 and all theater personnel in one form or another...

BREAK A LEG!

We're going to need it.

SUPPORT YOUR LOCAL THEATERS!

Roxanne Redux

Ladies and gentleman, boys and girls, kids of all ages...

It is with a great deal of pride and pleasure that introduce to the world, the latest love of my life.
Her name...

ROXANNE OF THE ISLANDS.

Roxanne is the lead character in what I am calling a tropical adventure comedy melodrama, a mouthful to be sure while the full title of which is:

ROXANNE OF THE ISLANDS
or
THEY'RE PLAYING OUR SARONG

This piece of pure Cherney-ana has been published by Off the Wall Plays, the first of all my works not published by yours truly, a major moment in the life of me.

The story of this epic revolves around the brave and beautiful Roxanne on her home of Ooaheek Island in the South Pacific after World War II. Not only must she contend with a lovesick witch doctor named Zhivago and a 1000 year old goddess with daddy issues who's after her ship-wrecked sea captain boyfriend but also a volcano that just won't give a poor girl a break.

ROXANNE is based on a sub-genre of films from the late thirties-early forties set in far off islands in the South Seas, the more exotic, the better and accuracy be damned. Titles ranged from John Ford's THE HURRICANE to what became the norm, B-programmers like ALOMA OF THE SOUTH SEAS.

Both of these movies had another thing in common besides their theme and locale. They starred the enchanting and drop dead gorgeous Dorothy Lamour. Known mostly today as the foil of Hope and Crosby ROAD pictures, Lamour had quite a career prior to meeting the boys beginning as a big band singer in the 1930s. After moving to Hollywood, it wasn't long before she donned her first sarong in THE JUNGLE PRINCESS, which was such a hit for Paramount at the time, it type-cast from there on in. Dotty was major pin-up girl during WWII and sold so many war bonds she was nicknamed The Bombshell of Bombs. I wanted to write a melodrama with a strong heroine, deviating from the damsel in distress normally seen in this type of show and one not dependent on being rescued by the handsome hero. Dorothy Lamour fit the bill for me.

While this is the first melodrama script I've completed since SONG OF THE CANYON KID (aka LONE PRAIRIE), it began its life back in the 1980s. Where the idea came from originally, I haven't a clue What I recall is that after I wrote LEGEND OF THE ROGUE, I had a series of ideas for melos set in various genres and locations. It always started with the title: DESMOND OF THE DESERT or AN OASIS IN THE HOLE. STAN OF THE SEVEN SEAS or 20,000 LEAKS UNDER THE SEA and MIKE OF THE MISSISSIPPI or YOUNG MAN RIVER. (Yes, they all have subtitles) But initially, the script I leaned toward was JUNGLE FEVER or B'WANA BUY A DUCK featuring the pith helmeted hero Congo Ted. It didn't fly, as much as I struggled with it and eventually went on to the next, that being ROXANNE. I got about half way into it and...the engine stalled out. It ended up sitting in the front yard with the tires off, obviously going nowhere. Fortunately, I saved it because, when I unearthed it over the years, I liked what I wrote so much that I couldn't dispose of it completely. While I considered placing Congo Ted into the mix, I resisted since he would have detracted the true main character, the brave and lovely Roxanne. It took quite a few years, but after my recent success with my other melos, I felt a moral imperative to complete this sucker after all this time and finally, I done did.

I drew a lot of inspiration, as I always do with my melos, from the cartoons of Jay Ward Productions, most famously the creators of Rocky and Bullwinkle, among others along with my own personal fave, GEORGE OF THE JUNGLE. Much of my humor stems from this deep well of brilliant absurdity. My penchant for titles and sub-titles is straight out of a Rocky and Bullwinkle cliffhanger, many times my favorite part of an episode. ROXANNE itself is chock full o' references from the villain's name (Witch Doctor Zhivago) to Roxanne's sister,Fred  ("Papa wanted a boy." "Close, but no cigar.") and the setting, Ooaheek Island, which is the sound a bird makes when it flies to close to the volcano.

What really fueled my muse was when I decided to add a couple of musical numbers including a swing dance number to open ACT II. I couldn't think of a better tune in the world than Benny Goodman's Big Band classic interpretation of Louis Prima's "Sing Sing Sing" with the incomparable Gene Krupa on the drums. I listened to this constantly and found that it really drove the project home.

So there you have it, kitty cats. That's the origin of ROXANNE OF THE ISLANDS. Take a bow, sister. May the world fall in love with you as much as I have.

To read an elongated excerpt or to buy a copy (hint! hint!) go to OFF THE WALL PLAYS .

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

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..."

CLICK HERE FOR MORE TALES FROM THE VILLE 

Tales from the Ville: It's All True, La Rue

On this Cherney Journey I've been on the last few years, hawking my plays to and fro across the country, I have to remember where and how it all began and who was responsible. In my case, it all starts with the one and only LA RUE'S RETURN or HOW'S A BAYOU.

I've chronicles the origin of this melodrama written by my best friend Edward Thorpe and myself that was originally produced at the Palace Showboad Dinner Theater at Pollardville in a previous post entitled
THE RETURN OF LA RUE'S RETURN

Therefore, I'm not going to rehash that here. After its most recent production with the Mt.Vernon Community Theatre in Mt. Vernon, Missouri, LA RUE has become the most popular show in my catalog (yes, I have a freaking catalog, thank you very much) and I'm am pleased as punch about it.

The second go-around of LA RUE'S RETURN at the Palace Showboat, I was asked to direct which gave me an opportunity to heal some wounds. First order of business, Ed and I did a revamp of the script, adding a flashback scene that we believed fleshed it out a bit. A few other tweaks here and there and voila! Now we had LA RUE v.2.

I can't honestly say that my version of LA RUE'S RETURN was any better than the first as directed by Ray Rustigian, but I was able to put my signature on it which suited me just fine. The brilliant cast, consisting of Wayne Head, Elaine Slatore, Shawn O'Neal, Greg Pollard, Nicole Eddy, Robert Redmond and Elizabeth Schaefer made me proud each and every single performance. I even got a chance to appear in the show as Ike for the first month before Greg took over the role. I admit I had an "in" with the director.

Did it heal all wounds? No. In fact, it created a few new ones along the way. There was a regime change that changed the face of the Ville until it finally closed up shop. None of that backstage bullshit affected the show which, of course, had to go on and it did in the grand tradition of show biz. The bottom line (aka At the end of the day) was that our melodrama had the honor of playing that stage one mo' time and for that, I am grateful.

However, here is one story I would like to relate to you about the second coming of LA RUE.

As we were putting together pre-show publicity, someone...who shall remain nameless, because, well, I say so...had put together a mail-out flyer for the Ville's new production, artwork and all. Right away, I noticed that something was off, WAY off, namely the title of the show. It read: THE RETURN OF VICTOR LA RUE. As the coauthor and director of the show in apparent question, I attempted to correct the flyer artiste.

"First of all, the show is called LA RUE'S RETURN," I said as calmly as I could. "Second of all, his name is Jacques La Rue, not Victor."

"Oh," I was told, then very matter-of-factly, "I like Victor better."

Steam shot out my nose, ears and probably elsewhere on my body as I explained that it wasn't this person's call to make.

Argh.

Level heads prevailed, I guess and the flyer was, I imagine, reluctantly changed to the original title, No blood was spilled, but hatchi-mama...

(I should note that I never had any problems at all with this person before or even after this occurred. This minor incident has barely a hint of conflict, but I still left this person anonymous out of respect.)

CUT TO:
A FEW WEEKS AGO

As I do so periodically,  I enter LA RUE'S RETURN as well as all my other titles into a search engine as well placing them in Google Alerts, to see if anyone is staging any of my shows without consent. It's happened before and they've been caught with their hands in my bag.

On this recent search, I found RETURNS-LA RUE TACTICAL. Looks like assault rifles and accessories to me. Hmm. Then there's the RETURN POLICY for the KIKI LA RUE BOUTQUE, some actress named Eva La Rue returning to ALL MY CHILDREN and finally, an episode of  Chuck Norris' CBS show WALKER, TEXAS RANGER from 1996 called "The Return of La Rue".  Okay, now you've got my interest.

When the Gaslighter Theater in Campbell, CA produced LA RUE without either author's consent, we went after them and made them pay up or else. We discovered that they had torn the title page off the script I initially sent them years before. It contained both Ed's name and mine along with all of our contact material. At the top of the next page was the title they wrote across the top: THE RETURN OF LA RUE.

So this WALKER episode required further investigation. I looked it up on IMDB quicken'n a wink. Ah, looks La Rue was a recurring character and a villain, no less. Very good. Then I got a patented Chuck Norris sidekick straight to my nether region.

The character's full name?

Victor La Rue.

Hatchi-mama....

For more info about LA RUE'S RETURN or any other scripts o' mine please visit my website:
WRITTEN BY SCOTT CHERNEY

Oh, and performance rights are available. Contact me at writtenbysc@gmail.com for more info.

Adventures in Low Budget: Under Arrest

I have always wanted to be in the movies, a dream shared with billions of others, a number I do not feel is an over-estimate at this point in time. After all, the movies have been around for well over a century now (so have I) and, since their inception, inspired the dreams of oh-so-many as they continue to do day in and day out.  For me, I wanted to be a movie star, plain and simple. This lifetime wish has made me no more significant than a grain of sand.  However, if it had come true, I would have been an extremely famous grain of sand. And rich.

It took me a long while to fulfill any semblance of my silver screen dreams. Like real estate, it was a matter of location, location, location and Stockton, California wasn’t exactly the Entertainment Mecca of the Universe. But, as I mentioned in previous posts, major and minor productions did find their way from Hollywood to this hub of the San Joaquin Valley. I did what I could to hunt down them while they were in the area with mixed results.

Stanley Kramer, legendary producer/director of The Defiant Ones, Judgment at Nuremburg and It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World filmed a major motion picture disaster about student unrest called RPM at the University of the Pacific starring Anthony Quinn and Ann-Margaret. During a riot scene, I snuck onto the set and hid in the bushes, filming the entire thing from my vantage point with my Super 8. The footage turned out to be useless since it turned out to be nothing but feet and foliage. When I finally saw the finished product, I couldn't find me anywhere in the riot footage, so I was very well camouflaged. Well, maybe too camouflaged. If there was a trace of me in this piece of dung, it would have made up for wasting any time at all slogging through Kramer's krapfest.

Not long after, Quinn returned to Fat City, scouting locations for a feature he was developing to be shot, among other places, at Stockton Jr. High. I recall Zorba himself standing in the courtyard between classes, surrounded by admiring kids and signing autographs. Two guys my age, Paul Stewart and Jeff Passegi, were walking past when Paul called to his friend in a voice loud enough for the Oscar winning actor to hear, ”Hey, Passegi! That guy kinda looks like Anthony Quinn!” This sarcasm caused Quinn turn to my smart ass friend with a slow burn. Even though a pair of local girls had been cast in the leading roles, complete with a feature in the Stockton fish wrap, the movie fell through.  I blame Paul.

It took me until after high school, but I finally made my way legitimately onto a working set as an extra in the TV movie, Senior Year (See post: Special Guest Star: Richard Donner) But I craved more and time was passing me by. Eventually, I had the good fortune to find my way into not one but three different shoots, not majors by any means, but minors of the memorable kind.

In 1981, I was deeply ensconced in Pollardville, an independent company arrived in the area for a film of unknown origin and content entitled Under Arrest. Thanks to Bill Humphreys, who had previously worked in television production down Los Angeles way in the 1970s, scored a casting gig on UA. This insured that most of us Pollardvillians were hired for roles big and small for this movie that was to be shot in locations in and around Stockton, Morada and Amador County, not to mention on the streets of our very own Pollardville Ghost Town.

A period piece of sorts, set in perhaps the late Thirties or early Forties, I was cast a newsboy (an honest to Buddha speaking role, no less!) who had to alert the main character, a small time thief, that the cops wuz watchin’ him. It had this Warner Brothers gangster vibe, so I affected some kind of a bastardized Bowery Boys accent that would have made Leo Gorcey wince. Little did I know that Under Arrest was a fabled Based on True Story and shot on the same locations where this tale actually unfolded. Therefore, my sequence was filmed in downtown Jackson in the foothills of Northern California, not the streets of Flatbush where I thought I belonged. Here I am, Frankie Darro’s long lost littler bruddah from Brooklyn in the middle of the Mother Lode. Oy.

I also managed to grab a couple of non-speaking roles as well. The first, a carnival barker (in appropriate disguise, of course) and as a double for my friend Ed Thorpe who had played a deputy to Bill’s country sheriff. (We went from Bedford-Stuyvesant to Mayberry in one fell swoop!) Ed had moved to Santa Barbara long before the crew returned for some re-shoots and pick ups, so I filled in as the deputy loping down the street calling for the sheriff in long shot.

Once completed, we were granted an advanced screening of the finished product at our very own Palace Showboat. Projection wasn’t an issue in our theater since Under Arrest was shot on 16mm, a format we could easily accommodate. A borrowed projector and a screen set center stage later, poof! Instant cinema!

Under Arrest turned out to be a revelation in more ways than one. First of all, it had the look and feel of a higher budgeted production. As a whole, we Palace Showboat Players came off quite nicely and we had every reason to be proud of what we did on screen, even me, not the Guys and Dolls reject I had imagined. (Our own D.W, Landingham liked to kid that he had three lines as a shopkeeper robbed by the main character: “I don’t know what you’re talking about”, “I don’t know what you’re talking about” and “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”) The film’s main cast, while mostly unknowns, did include two actors we had no idea had been involved since their scenes were shot after we had all wrapped and may have been filmed in L.A. Richard Moll, only months shy of appearing as Bull in the Harry Anderson sitcom Night Court was totally unrecognizable at first glance since he sported a full head of hair, not the scalping he had on the show. The other cast member had been associated with another film, though not as the main character not as a performer. Billy Hayes was the subject of his own Based on a True Story, Midnight Express, all about the hash smuggler who spent time in Turkish prison, played in the film by Brad Davis. Hayes must have been dipping his toe in the acting game, though nothing much more came out of it after this movie. Hope he didn’t return to his wicked, wicked ways.

What really blew our minds was that Under Arrest turned out to be, not a period crime drama, but a faith based story. Based on the autobiography of Phil Thatcher, this story is a classic Bad Boy Meets Jesus and Makes Good story and, for a film of this nature, really didn’t seem particularly preachy. Maybe the director, William Fields, had something to do with this, downplaying what could have an infomercial for Christianity and taking a more subtle approach. To be sure, its message was effectively signed, sealed and delivered, only not with the usual sledgehammer to the soul. Overall, I gave Under Arrest the full Ebert.

What became of Under Arrest in the years that passed is open to speculation. Only an hour in length, it wouldn’t have a theatrical release. I imagine it was carted around the country and shown to church groups, maybe even with a Q and A with Mr. Thatcher himself. I found a VHS copy in a Christian bookstore around the turn of the century. When I saw it on the shelf, I placed it over one of Willie Aames’ Bibleman episodes because…well, do you have to ask? Over time, I’ve had difficulty finding it on DVD until recently. It seems that an outfit called New Liberty Videos, a company owned by the film’s editor, Brian Barkley, acquired it and changed the title to The Phil Thatcher Story, a title even more generic than the first, but at least it’s been rescued from obscurity. It's available with two other movies under a separate title, Free Indeed. Also, the Christian Film Database which lists the film on their site, has mistakenly credited Mr. Barkley as the director when it was helmed by William Fields. Still, the preview offered on CFDb, the New Liberty page as well as YouTube confirms that first impression I had those many years ago. It looks pretty damn good.

UNDER ARREST aka THE PHIL THATCHER STORY/FREE INDEED

From top to bottom, Under Arrest was a downright pleasant experience, virtually stress free to the point that it almost spoiled me.  This movie was the polar opposite of the next two productions with which I became involved further down the road, not just in content, but behind the scenes as well. Divine Intervention, perhaps?

At the end of the day or the beginning or sometime late in the afternoon, I’m proud to have Under Arrest on my resume.  After all, it’s responsible for my very first IMDb credit.

Newsboy: Scott Cherney.

For that, that is only thing for me to say:

Hallelujah!

Maybe that’ll get me on CMDb.

Tales from the Ville: Hello, Ratcatcher, Hello

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It became a way of life.

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