History of The Talented Talent Bros -- Chapter XVIII

Things seemed to turn around that final weekend at The Looking Glass Theatre. The show was running pretty smoothly with occasional moments where we were really hitting our stride. Attendance was up too. A number of folks who saw the show during the festival returned to see it on a larger stage. From a financial stand-point it was too little too late, but from an emotional stand-point it was rewarding.

It was during that final weekend that I really began to realize that this little story of mine had legs and was, indeed, something special. It was deeply personal, yet others were grasping and appreciating the story. There were moments on stage that were beautiful. One that was very special to me was doing my scene with Caitlin … one night it just clicked. It was powerful. It moved both of us. It moved the audience.

Ask any actor and they’ll tell you that they look for moments like those.

Finality

At least the show wouldn’t sputter out, but would conclude on a high note of sorts. I felt a sense of relief. I felt a sense of pride. And I was glad that it was over. The run of The Broken Jump had come to an end … and I was sure that ending signified something much larger. We donated some set pieces to The Looking Glass because it was just easier than trying to move the stuff. The show was over … and I didn’t really care what came of the props and costumes.

It was time to move on. For me … and probably for everybody else involved. Everybody said their good-byes to one another and took off. Irony of ironies, you can probably guess who was left there at the end … doing the final clean-up, moving the final load of stuff out, locking the doors behind us … Matt, Mel and me. This era of The Talented Talent Brothers ended pretty much as it had begun.

Aftermath

The days and weeks that followed The Broken Jump were among the most difficult I have ever encountered. Whether I liked it or not, I was going to have to address issues with my health. I would also have to decide whether or not any of those answers I had come with when asking myself, “Why am I doing this?” were valid. I was going to have to make some tough decisions … personally and professionally.

Weeks after the show had come to an end, I took stock in just how much I had lost. Money, weight, my hair, my family, my job, my pride, my ambition, my sense of self. I had all but lost everything. And why? Because I was trying to create something … something bigger and more important than my self. I was less than pleased with where I was and what I had become.

The whole idea, concept, conceit of The Talented Talent Brothers was to create a creative, communal group with an “all-for-one, one-for-all” attitude. I was trying to create a sense of family within a community of creative-minded people. I wanted to be part of something bigger than I could ever be alone. John, Paul, George and Ringo were special … The Beatles were legend. In some ways, that was the mindset.

I had said years before, at the beginning of this journey, that The Talented Talent Brothers would be my last, best shot. In the weeks that followed The Broken Jump, recovering at home alone, I decided that I would stick to my guns. I had taken my shot and that was that. I had been the driving force behind The Talented Talent Brothers … I was the one who believed in it. I tried to give others opportunity to shine, to create, to become involved, to grab the bull by the horns … but eventually, it all rested squarely on my shoulders. I’m too old and tired to carry that weight any longer.

It was time to concentrate on more important things … on trying to recover all that I had lost over the previous three-plus years. This point was driven home by how minimal a sense of community had been established. After an extended stay in the hospital, the only folks to reach out to me were Mel (a few weeks later while I was visiting Ty in Virginia) and JB (a week or so after that). Just like ever other show I had ever done … folks just moved on. When I was most in need … aw, what’s the use in complaining? It’s not like anybody was shocked.

Starting Over

Sometimes when you remove all the extraneous clutter from your mind and soul, new opportunities arise. I have been blessed to find a new place, a new job and a new opportunity to start over. I left New York … with no fanfare, with hardly a goodbye spoken … and now live by the Carolina coast. A place where I was happy years ago. A place I had always assumed I might retire to. I write this on Christmas Eve … after having spent the afternoon at the beach … from a better place than I had been the last several years.

And The Talented Talent Brothers? They are no more. They were nothing more than a spark of my imagination. They existed only because I believed in them … I don’t any longer. I’ve joined everybody else. It was my last shot … I gambled and lost. It was a great game and I enjoyed playing it … but the game is over. I learned a long time ago to never say never, but I doubt you will ever see me on a theatre’s stage again. I just don’t have that desire in me any more.

I’ll continue to get up on stage at a comedy club here and there, I’ll still write … but performing will no longer be the number one priority in my life any more. My priorities were all out of whack for too long. I suffered from an addiction to being on stage … I’m in a self-imposed rehab now. My priorities are faith, health, family and peace … and I will no longer put those at risk to satisfy a selfish need to be on a theatre’s stage again.

This may sound like an ending … a depressing one at that … but it is not. It is a new beginning. A positive beginning. For a change.

History of The Talented Talent Bros -- Chapter XVII

That early Sunday matinee performance must have been trying for everybody involved. My recollection of that particular performance is minimal. What I do recall is trying to maintain my composure between every scene because I was afraid I was going to have a breakdown at any moment. I recall making it through my long scene with Mel thanks to her strong performance and the fact that the theatre’s air conditioning was blowing right on me. I seem to recall that it was raining after the show and that Mel drove me home. I went right to bed and slept all day and all night only to awake Monday morning feeling like I needed a nap.

Who knows what the rest of the cast thought. You have to give them props for continuing on in a show where the producer and lead actor looked like he had just pulled himself out of the grave. If they thought that, they weren’t too far from the truth.

The final three festival performances of The Broken Jump at Where Eagles Dare were much less eventful than the previous three. We had some good audiences and some small ones. We received a nice write up and I received some positive feedback from a few of the people who caught a performance. I felt better and better with each subsequent performance … the after-effects of my little seizure becoming less and less with each passing day.

Back Through The Looking Glass

Our final festival performance was on Sunday, August 5th. Immediately after the show we hauled everything from Where Eagles Dare on 36th to The Looking Glass Theatre on 57th. We wouldn’t reconvene for a week and a half. But at that time we would need to set up, deal with lights and sound and get ready for the second half of our run.

I had hoped that would go smoothly. With the number of Weasel folks around who were familiar with the space and with JB’s help, I figured this half would be a walk in the park compared to the run during the festival. I should have known better. Nothing has ever been easy where Baby Hippopotamus Productions is involved.

JB had a family emergency and he and Grace would be heading to Texas. We would be without our stage manager and somebody to run our lights and sound for our load-in, tech rehearsal and first weekend performances on 57th Street. The cast rallied together to implement a plan to cover for Grace during scene changes. With a little luck and an ad on craigslist, we found somebody to run our lights and sound and Jack Boice brought in a friend with lighting experience to hang and focus our lights.

But with those issues handled, other issues arose. We were without half of our cast for our tech rehearsal. I was quite disheartened. The camaraderie that had existed during Weasel Erotica was severely diminished this time around. With JB and Grace in Texas, Mel dealing with an emergency in Jersey and other cast members unavailable due to other engagements, the bulk of the load fell on those remaining. Most of the credit in getting everything ready for our “re-opening” must go to Jack Boice and, of course, brother Matt.

Imagine that: Matt once again proving to be the guy that holds everything together.

First Weekend Back

This trend of being disheartened escalated during those first three performances at The Looking Glass Theatre. Our crowds were tiny. I had extended our run to provide our cast with the opportunity to work on a longer run. I, for one, hate the idea of rehearsing for 6-8 weeks just to give two or three performances. Well, we had a longer run, but it didn’t look like anybody cared. I had also hoped that the additional performances would give us a chance to re-coup some of the financial loss. Instead it looked like it was going to only contribute to the financial loss.

And having quit my job that very week sure didn’t brighten my monetary outlook.

The aggravating part of all of this was that the performances were getting stronger and stronger. This was turning into one hell of a show … and nobody was going to see it.

History of The Talented Talent Bros -- Chapter XVI

The run of The Broken Jump was going to be an unusual one. A total of twelve performances were in the works. The first six of which would take place as part of the Midtown International Theatre Festival at Where Eagles Dare Theatre on 36th Street. These performances would take place on a variety of days at a variety of times between July 21st and August 5th. Then we would have another six performances at The Looking Glass Theatre on 57th Street on Fri-Sun between August 17th and 26th. The show was kept simple as to keep it mobile and because, frankly, I was about out of money.

Opening the show was quite exciting. I was nervous about loading in. I was nervous about running long (if the performance ran over our allotted time we would be fined). I was nervous about loading out. I was nervous about whether or not anybody would bother to come see the show. And finally, I was nervous about my own performance. For our first performance, I needn't have worried about anything ... well, except my performance, which left a bit to be desired.

Breaking Down During The Broken Jump

Our third festival performance was on a Sunday at 11am. Why anybody would bother to schedule a show at this time was beyond me. I felt a sense of dread in the days before that particular show that nobody would come and we would just wind up hauling everything right back to my office on 42nd Street. Little did I realize how much of an ordeal that particular performance would actually be.

The night before I stayed at home, watched a ballgame, ordered a pizza and generally had a relaxing (albeit somewhat lonely) evening. A little after 11pm I got ready to go to bed. I went to the bathroom, brushed my teeth, turned off the TV and headed into the bedroom. I felt a little lightheaded, but thought nothing of it. I had eaten too much earlier and felt like a tinge of heartburn was about to kick in. Then I went into the bedroom, started to set the alarm clock ... and all hell broke loose ... internally.

Quite suddenly I was overwhelmed with pain. The only way I can accurately describe it is like this: imagine a Charlie Horse (surely you've had one of those) as severe as possible. Now imagine that taking place all over your entire body from your armpits to your knees. I collapsed onto my cold, hard tile floor. Wearing nothing but a pair of unzipped jeans, I writhed around on the floor, banging my head against the chest-of-drawers. I rolled back and forth trying to relieve the pain. In a matter of seconds I realized that this was something more severe than I had ever encountered.

I tried getting up, but couldn't. The pain of having damn near every muscle in my body contract was searing. I quite literally crawled back into the living room, desperately racing for my cell phone. The process of pulling my body across the floor had pulled my pants down around my ankles. Searching for my phone I thought, "This is it. I'm gonna die. In Union City, New Jersey in my underwear. Alone." My recollection of the next several moments is hazy. I don't actually recall speaking to the 911 operator, but know that I made the call. I don't recall getting to my door, but somehow I did. I do remember thinking as the paramedics came up the stairs that they sure had responded fast. And I do recall crying through all of this, thinking that I did not want to die this way.

By the time they loaded me in the ambulance, the pain had mostly subsided. I was sore. I ached. I was nauseous. I wanted to throw up. My head was pounding. I was exhausted. But I felt alright. They took me to Christ Hospital on Palisade where they stuck an IV into my arm and kept me under observation. Actually, I don't know that they observed anything. I fell asleep trying to figure out how I had a t-shirt on, because I hadn't had one on when the paramedics arrived. I guess that one of the paramedics grabbed some clothes from my house. They would come in handy in the morning.

I awoke a little before 8am in a quiet and empty hospital room. Suddenly I panicked. I had a performance in three hours. I saw a pair of socks and my sneakers over in a corner. I knew I didn't have time to mess around. I pulled the IV needle out of my arm, put my socks and shoes on (I had a t-shirt and my jeans on), walked briskly past an empty nurses' station and right out of the hospital. I didn't have my cell phone on me, but my wallet was in my back pocket. Unfortunately, I didn't have any cash and my debit card was at home next to my computer. I didn't have time to waste. I would have to walk.

I walked as quickly as I could all the way home. I felt a strong chill all over my body, yet I was pouring sweat. After about 10 minutes of walking my head hurt so bad that my vision would occasionally blur. The weather was cool, but not cold. I wanted a cigarette. I just kept hustling ... a cup of coffee, a smoke, a splash of water on the face ... they were all waiting for me at my apartment. So was my costume and props for the show ... sitting in my gym bag next to my bed. By the time I made it home my shirt was drenched in sweat and my body ached. I felt as weak as a newborn and struggled to get up the three flights of stairs.

It was 9:15am when I got home. I guzzled an entire bottle of water, changed shirts, put some deodorant on, grabbed my debit card, gym bag, a ball cap and some change and went right back out the door. Going down the stairs was just as difficult as coming up. I walked (much more slowly now) to the bus stop and was glad I didn't have to wait at all to catch one. I fell asleep on the short drive to the city. Once there, I made it to the office at 9:45 ... I had made good time. I crawled on the couch and tried to get comfortable. People would be arriving soon to load stuff up. Maybe if I rested for a few minutes I would feel better, right?

Not so. By the time JB and Grace arrived I was so stiff and in so much aching pain that I couldn't even help them load stuff onto the hand trucks for our "performance day caravan." I was starting to wonder if I would even have the strength to make it through the show.

During this whole ordeal -- the 2.1 mile walk from the hospital (I looked it up on Mapquest before I wrote this), the physical trauma of this unusual seizure I suffered and the aches and pains associated with it, the checking myself out of the hospital and the exhausted collapse on the sofa at work -- I kept asking myself, "Why am I doing this? Why am I risking my health, my life? Why am I spending thousands of dollars I don't have? What am I getting out of this?"

I didn't like the answers I came up with ...