Lori (ann)

I'm not convinced with the expression "Time heals all wounds". Sometimes it's only a band-aid, holding our pain in place until we find a way to cope with it, not to mention the potential scars that go with it. Such as it is with grief. It's been less than a month since we lost Lori Warren and though the sorrow has dulled in the past few weeks, it's still there. This is how I'm choosing to wrap my tiny little brain around losing her, especially in the way that we did. For better or for worse, this is for her and, I suppose for me too.

I never felt comfortable calling her Lori Ann. It never sit well with me, even though that's what she preferred to be called when I knew her. Lori Ann seemed too country for my taste. "Here's Lori Ann singing 'My Truck is Red and So's My Hair'." Even though she walked out of the orchards of Linden, I always perceived her to be a city gal and she proved me right by proceeding to become that very thing..

To me, she was always Lori or as I would call her "L-ooo-rrr-iii," drawing it out like an echo in a Ricola commercial. For cheap laughs, I would add the Ann at the end as punctuation, but in lower case letters with a slight buzzer sound. So it became "L-ooo-rrr-iii...ann". It put a smile on her face with a little chuckle at the end which I would always strive to do because she was my best audience during that period. Then, also drawing it out, she'd would call me Scotty in return, a name only a few are allowed to utter. And they're all female. Imagine that.

Her first show

Hard to believe for anyone who knew her, the version of Lori I first met was an almost mousy, extremely shy 16 year old. I don't recall her speaking more than two words and those were probably "Hi" and "Bye". The cousin of a another friend, she became sort of a silent tag-a-long one summer, popping up after that every now and then like a glorified extra at Pollardville, the center of my universe at that time. Of course, she still managed to stand out while those big green eyes and copper top did all the talking for her. Her hair had been cut rather short and made her seem younger than she actually was. Over time, she grew it out to the fiery tresses we all remember, framing the woman she was about to become.  I was pleasantly surprised when she eventually auditioned for one of the shows at the Palace Showboat, that being the melodrama/vaudeville double bill of THE RATCATCHER'S DAUGHTER/HELLO, VAUDEVILLE, HELLO as directed respectively by D.W. Landingham and Ray Rustigian, the both of which having the collective good sense to cast her.

And that's when it happened.

Lori didn't merely emerge from her shell. She obliterated it once and for all. It turned out that she was the true definition of a natural talent, adept at singing, dancing and definitely comedy. From there, she didn't leave that stage for the better part of a decade, guaranteeing her a well-deserved place in the Hall of Fame of that theater. 

Fanny Oaktree

It was during that time that I really got to know Lori, falling into a immediate and intimate friendship beginning with her first show. Both on stage and off, we were collaborators, co-conspirators and confidantes, speaking in the Secret Language of Close Friends with in-jokes, both spoken and delivered with a mere look or raise of an eyebrow. She was so willing to do anything in those shows. In turn, I was so fortunate to be able to not only be on the same stage with her, but to direct and write some material made to order, whether it was Fannie Oaktree, the cowgirl choreographer who made people dance by shooting at their feet, putting oversized shoes on her knees with Bob Gossett and Tony Petrali to perform "It's a Small World" (with apologies to Tim Conway's Dorf) and even adapt the Vitameatavegamin piece from I LOVE LUCY so she could channel Lucille Ball. The great Lou Nardi, who directed a few shows at the Ville, even recognized her raw talent, giving her some choices musical numbers like "Good Times Are Here to Stay" from DAMES AT SEA among others. Then again, and I don't think this is disrespectful, but maybe Lou had a little crush on Lori.

Then again, who didn't? I'll cop to it as well. It was easy to drawn to her flame and I'm talking about her hair again. She had a magnetic personality that drew people in, keeping many of those relationships over the years and forming new ones along the way, leaving a trail of them all across the country.

But my time with her was relatively short, only a piece of the full life she had lived. She had become an RN, something that I never would have conceived for her, but damned if she wasn't. And this scuba diving obsession? What the hell? If there is a case to be made for this social media thing, it's that we can re-connect with someone who may have drifted away and  fill in at least some of the blanks that make up one's life. (Unless I'm mistaken, I believe that was one of the original intentions)

I was fortunate enough to get together with Lori in maybe 2010 (?) when she visited Portland with some friends. I can't say she was the same old Lori, though she was in there all right. She seemed a lot brassier than I remember, but maybe my memory was faltering. This is how she evolved and I was stuck in the 1980s version of her. We reminisced maybe too much and didn't share enough of our current lives, but we laughed like we always did about the absurdities of just about everything. Our time was way too short and soon we had to say a reluctant goodbye. Before we got too misty-eyed, she told me, "We'll see each other again." I knew it wasn't true and I think she did too. But it was a way to get out of that potentially awkward situation. That was the last I saw of her.

Now she's gone, certainly not the way anybody would ever expect or want for her. It certainly wasn't on her list of Things to Do. Dwelling on what happened is a disservice to her, as tragic as it might have been. That's not how Lori should be remembered. Between all of us that knew her, there are enough flashbacks to better times that we shared with her to help negate this one terrible thing. As difficult it is to do that, we have to at least try, for the sake of all of us and, most importantly, for Lori's.

So here's that awkward moment again, the most reluctant goodbye of all. Now we definitely won't see each other again. But I can see you whenever I want. All I have to do is close my eyes and dream of days gone past because you will always occupy a spot in both my heart and my mind. Thank you for being a part of my life.

I can't say the word. But I will say so long, my sweet L-ooo-rrr-iii...ann.

Love you, kid.

The Return of La Rue's Return

First production of LA RUE'S RETURN at Pollardville

Evil always returns...
only this time, it has a bad French accent!

Oh, he's back alright. Jacques La Rue, that is. He's the villain in the very first theatrical venture show written by Edward Thorpe and myself. a little melodrama called LA RUE'S RETURN or HOW'S A BAYOU?.

Ray Rustygun

More than anyone else that trod the boards on the Pollardville stage, Ray Rustigian epitomized everything that was the Palace Showboat Theater. For over twenty five years, Ray wore almost every hat in the theater as a director, vaudeville performer, melodramatic actor and, of course, master of ceremonies par excellence, a role that made him the face of the Palace Showboat.

I first laid eyes on him during my first trip to the Ville way back in 1972. ALASKA was the melodrama with Ray as the villain. The place was packed to the rafters with a particularly rowdy group of patrons. Each time Ray as Rhinestone Fred entered, a single peanut sailed up from the crowd and struck him in the same spot every time, right on the chest. He'd follow the peanut's trajectory without flinching, remaining in character as he'd turn his attention to the offender to fire off a well-timed comeback to the audience such as: "This is what happens when cousins marry."

I think this was the show he and partner-in-crime Phil DeAngelo performed "The Italian Carpenter" sketch, a variation on "The Heckler" with Phil playing the straight man and Ray as the carpenter. It contained one of my favorite lines of all time.

RAY: You sing too loud! Stand back! Stand back!
PHIL: How far?
RAY: You gotta car?

A few years later, Ray directed the first melodrama script written by Ed Thorpe and myself, LARUE'S RETURN or HOW'S A BAYOU? He graciously allowed these two budding playwrights to sit in on rehearsals and provide input. After the mountain of notes we gave him each night, he probably regretted it. What did he expect from a couple of wise-asses in their early twenties?

Sometime later, I finally appeared onstage at the Ville myself and made my own directorial debut shortly after, falling right on my face. I thought I knew it all, but I didn't, It wasn't until Ray directed me in my first traditional old-school vaudeville show, HELLO, VAUDEVILLE, HELLO, that I understood what the hell Polardville and vaudeville itself was all about. I loved that show. It remains my favorite of the shows in which I appeared. It inspired me to direct once again with three back-to-back olios right after Ray's show.

Ray took a hiatus from his emcee duties and I was lucky enough to take over. There was no way I could fill his Capezios. Maybe it's because I didn't try to emulate his stage attire. That guy had the flashiest wardrobe this side of Liberace. We alternated stints every other month for a few shows until one glorious closing night performance when we co-hosted, one of the best nights of my life.

I got to write a couple of bits for Ray, particularly in my show IT'S SHOWTIME, FOLKS. Some of the dialogue of one piece went as such:
BOB: Name?
RAY: Ray Rustigian.
BOB: A rusty gun?
RAY: No. Rustigian. It's Armenian.
BOB: Oh, I'm sorry.
RAY: You're sorry?

Of course he wasn't. Ray was a proud Armenian American. Maybe that was the key to Ray. He took pride in himself, his heritage, his work and certainly the Palace Showboat, on and off the stage. He even stepped up to take over in its last few years until even he couldn't sustain it any longer. When we held our last reunion, the night Pollardville closed its doors for good, Ray donned a crushed velvet tuxedo from the Rustigian Collection and graced the stage as emcee for the very last time for our Grand Finale performance.

Ray loved being on stage and that love was returned by the audience. Maybe it was because he was the consummate salesman. He knew how to sell it and sell it he did. The crowd bought it every single time.

As we remember the times when we were welcomed to Pollardville and recall the day of long ago, Ray Rustigian was there. His legacy spans almost the entire history of the theater right up until the final bow.

To paraphrase Ray's send-off at the end of each show:

No matter where you go, there he was.

Okay, Ray. Five minutes to curtain. Let's Hidey-Didey.

"Good evening, ladies and gentleman and welcome to the Palace Showboat. Here he is, your master of ceremonies for this evening, MR. RAY RUSTIGIAN!"

The Ville-Part Three

After that afternoon in the Ghost Town, I was treated to an evening at the Pollardville Palace BS (Before Showboat) for a Saturday night performance of ALASKA or THAR'S GOLD IN THEM THAR PANTS (or whatever the hell it was called) and the vaudeville entitled...uh....VAUDEVILLE (fill in the blank).

What struck me most about the showand the theater iself  was how vibrant all the colors were...and I wasn't even high at the time. Take a look at the cast photo from ALASKA, probably the best looking picture ever taken on that stage to see what I mean. Now I couldn't tell you a damn thing about the melo itself except that the show opened with a rendition of PAINT YOUR WAGON, Phil DeAngelo as the hero wore a Hoss Cartwright hat and there was my sixteen year old friend Ed, gussied up as an "old" miner with a beard that made him look like he just stepped off a kid friendly cough drop box...Smith Brothers Jr. I also remember Ray Rustigian as a terrific villain. That night, whenever he entered, an audience member tossed a single peanut at him that bounced off his chest and his slow take would be consistent each and every time.

As for the olios, I haven't got a clue. I'm sure it was a patriotic finale...or a spiritual...I got nothing. But there is no way in hell that I could have forgotten the great diva herself, our very own Red Hot Mama, Miss Jeri Worth. As much as I enjoyed her performance as the femme fatale in the melo, but I was totally mesmerized when she took the stage during the second half. She tore the roof off of that place for what seemed to be a solid fifteen-minute set, culminating of course in "You Gotta See Your Mama Every Night".

Jeri was my favorite and most vivid memory from that night, not only on stage, but after the show as well. She was actually the first person at that theater that spoke to me for any length of time. I sat there like a star struck fan just chatting her up for at least a half hour. She told me how much she loved being on stage and of course in the spotlight. That was the first time I heard her line, "Every time I open the refrigerator, I do five minutes." Jeri was so totally gracious to this dopey little teenager. I’m sure she knew damn well that I had a little crush on her that night, pretty obvious by the fact that I found it difficult to take my eyes off her ample chest, causing me to cross my legs every couple of minutes.

Regardless of my post pubescent urges, I've always cherished those moments with her and didn’t realize until later that it was another reason I wanted to be involved with that place. I wanted to work with people like Jeri Worth. Later on when she changed her name to Starr, I understood completely. She sure was a star in my eyes and anyone who ever had the privilege to see her in all her glory, right there in the Pollardville Palace spotlight.

And that, my friends was My First Visit to the Ville.

What a day. And there were many more to come because this was just the beginning.

TO BE CONTINUED