Tales from the Ville: Under the Big Top-The Adventures of Crash Pollard

Part two of the UNDER THE BIG TOP saga, a three part "epic" recalling my first vaudeville show at the

Two Cyclinis and a fish

Palace Showboat Dinner Theater at Pollardville in Stockton, California.

PART ONE OF UNDER THE BIG TOP-BE A CLOWN

Neil Pollard is one of the funniest men who ever walked the face of the earth. That I was fortunate enough to work with him was an unexpected, but more than welcome perk of this show I didn't expect. It paid off dividends in the end because I was able to momentarily ride on the coattails on the man, the legend, the guy who never met a chicken he didn't like. 

As I stated in the first installment, Neil was managing the Chicken Kitchen restaurant as the same time the show was underway, taking care of those customers as well as the theater patrons since this was indeed a dinner theater. How he knew to race across the parking lot to get ready for whatever act he had been cast is beyond me. Sometimes he'd run a little late like the blackout Neil and I were cast in.

Me: I heard your parents used to be in the circus. 

Neil: That's right. They used to make love on the flying trapeze. 

Me: What did they call themselves? 

Neil: Hi Diddle Diddle! (buh-dump-bump!) 

One night, Neil missed his cue and I did the whole thing myself. When he realized his error, it barely fazed him. "Shit," he uttered. "Well, carry on!" Then he dashed back to the restaurant because, above all else, Neil Pollard was a early pioneer of multi-tasking.

In UNDER THE BIG TOP, Neil also appeared as The Great Flamo, a fire eating act. (Or was it Flamo the Great? Maybe it was just plain Flamo)  I should have asked how he did it, when he learned it or even why. Whatever the answers were, he certianly did it. Set up on one of the side stages, Neil gave a little audience patter as he lit his torches over a can of Sterno on a small podium. While I didn't witness this myself, I got the full report from several sources of what occurred during an early performance. After he had fired up the Sterno, he accidentally knocked the can over, spilling the jellied fuel and igniting the podium on fire. Neil basically stood dumbfounded, flipping his hands in the air like Art Carney's Ed Norton character from THE HONEYMOONERS. Thinking fast (mostly), Greg Dart ran down the side aisle with a fire extinguisher. He put out the fire, but the powdery blast from the extinguisher bounced off the back wall of the side stage and ricocheted into the audience members who were unfortunate enough to be sitting in the front row that evening. Unaware for what happened since we were getting ready for our Wild Willy number, Goldie and I entered the same side stage soon afterward in the midst of a toxically dusty haze. When the lights came up, I couldn't get my lines out, basically choking throughout the whole thing. I could hear Goldie coughing inside her bear mask as well. Once it was mercifully over, we stumbled our way backstage and I think we both said in unison once we got our breaths back, "What the hell happened out there?" Oh, it was Neil.

Another sketch in which I had been cast was the other circus act known The Cyclinis. All the

performers, with the exception of Flamo, were all Italian. (There were a bunch of "inis" in the show.) Our bicycle act consisted of Neil as Bicyclini, our brother Vincent as Unicyclini and me wearing a crash helmet and chewing bubble gum as little Tricyclini. For my entrance, I rode a creaky tricycle around the band pit, stop midway, blow a big bubble and complete the circle. How I never fell into that dark hole is a theatrical miracle. The sketch consisted of the three of us writing our bikes back and forth across the stage as Phil De Angelo, in his role as ringmaster, narrated the entire act. Vince had popped a wheelie across the stage, hence his designation as Uni. After a couple of more back and forths without or reason, I switched bikes, now riding on the handlebars of Neil's bike backwards and had to pedal us the two of us in reverse from stage right to stage left, hitting the proscenium arch with the front tire or my back whichever came first. What could go wrong? Well, it started off all well for the first month or so until one night as I was about to start pedaling, my foot slipped once we got started. We instantly started to wobble and Neil attempted to regain our balance, but took took a sharp left upstage in the process. He tried to adjust by steering right just as hard. Helpless, I didn't know what to do except lift my feet up so it's not to get caught in the spokes or drag on the stage. All of a sudden we passed up Phil. I thought to myself, "Hmm, that's funny. There goes Phil." And in that split second, we fell in a heap down stage left on the other side of the proscenium arch. I landed sideways on one ass cheek directly onto one of the footlights, basically a cut out spray painted can, flattening it and a crushing the light bulb underneath. Had I landed an inch or two over, I probably would have cut off my right buttock, remaining half ass for all eternity. In a burst of adrenal shock, I immediately stood, brushed myself off, walked off stage and screamed to the top of my lungs. I then returned a second later and posed. Ta da! The act was never the same again which I can only blame myself for since I had grown a little skittish after our pile-up, throwing off both my timing and balance. What were the odds that would have happened again? In my mind, pretty goddamn good.

Our founder

On closing night I had something in mind I had been plotting for a while. When Neil would pop in from the restaurant duties for the Cyclinis, he quickly don his tights, sometimes just wearing hem underneath his street clothes to save time. Then he'd change hair. It's no secret that Mr. Pollard wear a rug in his daily life. But for this show, he'd put on a curly wig, not over his toupee, but in place of. To accomplish this without anyone watching, he'd shove his entire head into the wardrobe and pull the old switcheroo. He wasn't fooling anybody. If he did, they'd probably still wonder, "Why is Neil sticking his head in the wardrobe?" During the last performance, I chose Hubba Bubba, the juiciest bubble gum at the time. Before our big ride across, Neil used to give me a big kiss right on top of my crash helmet. That night after the big smooch, I took the gum out of my mouth, lifted his wig, place it underneath place and slapped his curly locks down upon it. Splat! Backstage as he pulled off that juicy wad of Hubba Bubba, he gave me the ultimate Neil insult:

"You sumbitch." 

An ass move on my part to be sure, but believe me, it was done with a lot of affection. Honest.

Neil and friend

Following that show, Neil only appeared onstage only a handful of times, still flying across the parking lot in the nick of time, sometimes not. I, for one wish there was more and I'm not alone in that, but the tide was changing around the theater at that point. What Neil did onstage appeared so deceptively effortless and devoid of self-consciousness because he didn't have a false funny bone in his whole body. He was all natural and, dare I say, organic. Probably free range as well. In real life, he certainly had his moments as well with an abundance of unintentional slapstick to his credit. There is nothing more satisfyingly hilarious to a Pollardville veteran than a Neil Pollard story and there a million of 'em, all solid gold.

I was proud to work for and with the man, especially during my very first show. If I had to do it all over again, I'd give Neil a big kiss on his head. That is, before I stuck my gum on top just so I could hear it one more time again:

"You sumbitch."

COMING UP: NAZIS INVADE POLLARDVILLE

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

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

WHO DO THE VOODOO?

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

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

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

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

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

NEXT UP-WORKING WITH NEIL POLLARD

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Tales from the Ville: Hi Yo, Silver!

Nostalgia’s a funny thing. It usually puts a warm golden light on our memories to conveniently make our past a lot more significant than it really was. That really doesn’t apply in this case. It’s hard not to look back at Goodbye TV, Hello Burlesque as a pivotal moment in time for everyone and everything involved with the Palace Showboat at that point. GTV, HB, the vaudeville The Lone Ranger Rides Again was written for, set the standard for just about every show that followed it. For one thing, it represented a definite changing of the guard at the theater. Many of those who had been responsible for the development of the standard Pollardville formula decided it was time to move on. That’s when the new kids on the block moved in and with them (or us, as the case may be), a new sensibility. As a result, the bar was raised for on what this theater was capable of with just a little bit of imagination and throwing off some of the shackles of the past.

There should 3 more around here somewhere.

   
Bill Humphreys, who conceived and directed this show with Goldie Pollard, brought some of his professional experience in stage and television production to the Ville and turned the olios into a full multi-media experience combining both film and video elements with live-action for the very first time on that stage. Like moths to a flame, this show, as well as the melodrama that preceded it, Seven Wives for Dracula, a better than usual script by Tim Kelly and directed by D.W. Landingham, attracted pretty much what I would call an artists’ collective of actors, writers, musicians and, well, artists. We all congregated in a harmonious convergence in what I unashamedly refer to this as our “Renaissance period”. (Whew!) Okay, maybe some of that is nostalgia speaking again, but the truth of the matter, or the proof in the pudding, was what ended up on that stage and that end result was sensational. We all went to the next level. The music was better. The choreography was better. The makeup, the costumes, the sets-painted by an actual artist, Karen Van Dine…all better than they ever were before. And the cast matched them every step of the way. On top of all that, it was the first show to not only utilize original material but also actually encouraged the creation of such material. That’s where I came in. It all stemmed from the previous production when I helped Bob Gossett punch up the melodrama The Downfall of the Uprising or Who Do the Voodoo? with a bunch of new gags. I tried to do the same with the vaudeville, but, with one exception, was shot down every time. When GTV, HB came along, I was welcome with open arms by both Bill and Goldie, the rest being history.

Goodbye TV, Hello Burlesque traced the world of entertainment back in time from the television age through radio and ending up in the burlesque era. The Lone Ranger Rides Again obviously fit into this middle section. As far as the origin of this sketch, I honestly do not remember. It’s the only one that I’m a little hazy about how it actually began. Perhaps it had been the result of just another idea jam session. I don’t know. But, a few years ago, I caught a rerun of an old Dean Martin Show on TV Land or something. On this episode, Dean and Orson Welles were recreating a radio show. Orson read the script leaving Dean with all the sound effects. Now this must have stuck in my head because I remembered seeing this sketch as a kid. In case you’re wondering, the only thing I retained was a variation of the stairs gag, so I didn’t really steal anything.

 
Everything clicked on this sketch and it evolved into something even more wonderful than what existed on the page. It began with a kid listening to the radio and changing the channel as a medley of radio show themes and commercials played. When it ended up on “The William Tell Overture” (AKA The Lone Ranger Theme), the audience went nuts every single time. Then the curtain opened on that great set of a radio soundstage from the 1940s and that superb cast took my words and spun their own magic for the next ten minutes. I can say without hesitation that this was the best sketch I had written and certainly the best produced.

The cast-Bob Gossett as The Lone Ranger, Ed Thorpe as Tonto, Cory Troxclair as McGuirk, Lisa Smith as Annabelle, Paul Stolberg as Zorro (who originally came out of the bathroom in the end, a gag I never liked which is why I changed it) and Bill Humphreys as the Director all contributed to its great success each and every performance. Of course, I would be remiss if I failed to mention the real star of this bit. Jim Walsh became an absolute superstar in my eyes as the Sound Effects Engineer. His timing was immaculate and his energy non-stop. When he got to the aforementioned stair gag, he ran in place, counting down with each finger. The biggest laugh of the night. This was Jimmy’s best show all around from his performance as Renfield earlier in the Dracula melodrama to singing “Hot Patootie” (from The Rocky Horror Show and the very first rock ‘n roll number at the Ville) to just about everything he contributed to this production-on and off the stage. Small wonder why we used to call Jimmy “The Hardest Working Man in Show Business”. Never mind no James Brown.

Without a doubt in my mind, Goodbye TV, Hello Burlesque remains one of the best experiences I’ve ever encountered in this business we call show. More than that, it solidified for me that Pollardville was more than just a theater, but a way of life. It became a surrogate family not only for me, but pretty much for all of us who stayed there throughout the years: One big nurturing, often dysfunctional but ultimately supportive family.

How could we not? After all, we had a place to call Home.
And that ain’t nostalgia talkin’ neither.

Post Script: In my infinite wisdom, I didn't audition for this show, but I did fill in for my friend Tom Amo one weekend so I was able to touch the stars on stage with this fine production for a fleeting moment.  

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