Tag Archives: University of Kentucky

Were You in That? – A “Grand Night” Memory

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In Lexington, the University of Kentucky’s extraordinary Opera Program has for the last 25+ years staged an extraordinary event; “It’s a Grand Night for Singing”. Over a thousand people a night for two weeks assemble to hear remarkable voices sing Broadway/Hollywood/Billboard tunes. It’s supported by an orchestra and choreographed by a team of Broadway-seasoned professionals. It’s a startling evening. You just don’t GN 02expect this level of performance, energy, and talent from a basketball school. It’s a great tribute to Dr. Everett McCorvey who conceived the idea and has nurtured it through two-and-a-half decades and a couple of generations of participants.

I have been fortunate to have been a participant in this event a number of times. In fact, I think I may hold the record for having the most numbers cut from “Grand Night”. Hey, the standard’s high.

My friend, Dr. Tedrin Lindsay, has been a featured performer in this event for 20+ years. His piano-playing is energetic and passionate, yes. But he is also a man of great imagination and this shines forth in his performances. This is what live performance is about.

Tedrin has posted some of his remembrances of “Grand Night” moments.

May I indulge in one myself?

For the third year of “Grand Night”, Everett asked me to be part of a quartet of singers to sing a medley from “Kismet”; And This is My Beloved/Baubles, Bangles and Beads. I had never met my fellow singers until I arrived at the first rehearsal for the number in Everett’s old studio, the studio that was so tiny it was 80% piano. We crowded in; Everett, Cliff Jackson at the piano, and singers Angelique Clay (soprano), Phumzile Sojola (tenor), and a young bass from Louisville whose name evades my geezer memory.

We rehearsed for about an hour. My fellow singers didn’t sing to me, they sang through me. I had never heard so much sound in my life. You could see the sound in that little room. After the rehearsal, I crossed the street to the Medical Center for an MRI to confirm that all my major organs were intact and in their proper places.

I was in heaven.

I was singing these stunningly beautiful songs with these crazy talented singers in front of an orchestra for a thousand people a night……in a tux.

Just kill me now.

After the show, I asked my wife if she liked the number. She replied; “Were you in that one?”

Everyone’s a critic.

Hey! It’s What We Do

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I’ve written before about the first time I was directed by Joe Ferrell in That Championship Season on the Laboratory Theatre stage at the University of Kentucky. A couple of years after that show, Joe cast me as Kenny Talley in The Fifth of July on the Guignol Stage at UK. It was a wondrous cast, though at the time they were all new to me as performers except for the actor playing Jed. I had just finished directing him in Whodunit Darling at Studio Players, but I had never worked with Martha, Sheila, Tim, Michael, or Sue. The early rehearsals were filled with delightfully intimidating discoveries as we explored each other’s’ storytelling gifts. I’ve gone on happily to do a lot of theatre with those folks. I count every one of them as an admired friend.

“Jed” and I had the interesting challenge (for the mid-1980’s) of two straight actors playing gay lovers. My character had the further complication of being a double AK amputee veteran of the Vietnam War.

Hey!

I know it’s a stretch.

That’s why we’re here.

It’s what we do.

In the first scene of the play, in the first ten minutes of the play, Jed and Kenny (my character) quarrel about our garden, our house, our guests, and our lives. The argument reaches its peak and a relationship-testing silence ensues. In that silence, Jed kisses Kenny and we all understand in that moment there are things on the planet more important than our garden, our house, and our guests…and maybe our lives. It is our loves that matter. Having established that “minor” understanding, we can now have a play and tell our story.

An explanation is in order here.

I love to rehearse.

Strangely enough, I also like to audition. Un-strangely enough, I really like to perform.

But I love to rehearse.

By the time an audience sees the show, they’re only seeing one of about a dozen things we’ve tried in rehearsal. Many of those unseen choices are embarrassing or just plain awful, but in rehearsal it’s OK to try ‘em anyway. It’s where a useful new reality gets invented; the “alternative” reality of an imaginary world. For me, there may not be a more powerful reality. But…it’s not for the real world. Don’t try this at home. And most certainly don’t try this in the White House. Please.

This was our first rehearsal on our feet for The Fifth of July.

The first few rehearsals of a Joe Ferrell-directed play usually take place around a table, reading and discussing. That’s good, that’s good…but let’s get up and move, even if it’s with crutches (double AK amputee, remember?).

For this first rehearsal on our feet, we were in a large rehearsal room and we began at the top of the show. “Jed” and I were on stage and the rest of the cast arranged themselves around the perimeter of the room with their books and knitting and whittling. I’m lyin’ ‘bout the whittling, but remember these were primitive days before laptops, ipads, and smart phones. Hell, this was back when you actually had to know things – you couldn’t just google it – primitive! I like it better now.

Jed and I stumbled through the opening argument and arrived at the kiss.

The rehearsal room became silent. Everyone was still bent over their distractions, but their eyes had shifted to an impossible position on the side of their heads. Avid nonchalance reigned.

Silent…

Like the first time you mentioned a girl to your parents…

Silent…

Like your wisest response to the officer’s query; “Sir, do you know why I pulled you over?”…

Silent…

Like your friends’ reactions when you let slip the fact you actually liked Independence Day: Resurrection.

Silent.

We went on for a few more lines and then Joe stopped us. I vaguely remember we discussed the opening spat and the possible reasons for it. We discussed phlox and verbena in Jed’s garden and what legless Kenny might see every morning in the mirror. Then we did the scene again from the top.

The big moment returned and so did the silence.

We stopped again and discussed how we felt about Aunt Sally’s (Martha’s character) visit, and my feckless friends’ (Sue and Michael) visit, and the heat of a Fourth of July weekend in Missouri. And we did the scene again.

And again.

And again.

By about the tenth time through, the kiss meant nothing except in the flow of the story of these two men. It also meant nothing to the rest of the cast except for their desire for us to get it right so they could finally rehearse their scenes.

Awkwardness had been diffused – an urgent truth had coalesced in its place.

A new reality had been established in about 45 minutes.

Hey!

It’s what we do.

25 years later or so, I was cast by Joe in his production of A Lion in Winter at Woodford Theatre. My character had to kiss his mistress (30+ years younger than me) in front of his wife and his grown children in full knowledge of all involved. Awkward.

We did the scene once, stopped, discussed, Joe suggested a cruel, slow, twirl of the young lady in the face of the family to precede the kiss. We did the scene once more. A new reality was created in about 15 minutes.

Hey!

It’s what we do.

We seek surprise to capture it and add it to what we are.

We open ourselves to growth and growth comes.

We grow bigger as our world grows bigger.

It’s what we do.

I Killed Peter Pan

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The resurrected Mr. Pan on the right

I think the statute of limitations has run out. I can confess.

It’s not something I’m proud of and I don’t include it on my resume.

But I did it…or at least I thought so at the time.

For historical context; in 1970 Lexington Children’s Theatre performed their plays on the Guignol Stage at the University of Kentucky. That fall they were staging PETER PAN.

In 1970, I was a sophomore in the Theatre Department. That exalted status required me to take Stagecraft 101, a class that introduced theatre majors to the rigors of technical theatre. Participation in the class led to building flats and platforms, spackling sets, and being on the running crews for Guignol productions.

Peter Pan had to fly. That was my job.

It’s called a Foy System. It involves two ropes and pulleys attached to Peter onstage and an operator offstage. One rope moves Peter from stage right to stage left and the other moves him from downstage to upstage. Pulling the ropes lift Peter higher. Relaxing the ropes lowers him. Simple, n’est-ce pas?

Well, maybe for competent, coordinated people but we’re talkin’ ‘bout a long-haired hippie actor whose mindset and physical skills only coincided when flinging Frisbees (and then only occasionally).

The part of Peter Pan was being played by Geoff Moosnick; a sweet kid. Geoff’s mom, Marilyn, was a god to me. Marilyn was a Guignol veteran from the 50’s. She raised money and served on arts boards her whole adult life. She raised beautiful, bright children and mentored young artists throughout Kentucky. AND she told great stories…AND she made you feel that everything you said or did was an amazing and delightful discovery for her that day. These are the people we cherish.

It was final dress. I don’t remember what the distraction was. It might have been something as inconsequential as an invective haiku from Barry Baughman (UK’s Technical Director at the time) or something life-redirecting as contemplating my next meal (21-shrimp platter for $1.49 at the Kampus Korner or a grease-swimming double order of hash browns from Tolly-Ho). Whatever, the die was cast;

  • Peter spun and leapt for the hearth.
  • I pushed with my left when I should have pulled with my right.
  • I sailed Peter smoothly and head-first, straight into the corner of the hearth at an unsafe rate of speed.
  • Crunch.
  • Peter…Geoff…oldest son of one of my most-admired friends…hung in the air…head down…motionless, except for a slow, slow spin……clockwise I suppose since we are north of the equator………dead.

My first thought was; “You can clap your hands all you want but that sucker ain’t comin’ back to life.”

My second thought was; “Marilyn’s gonna be pissed.”

I lowered him to the floor. He lay there.

And finally groaned.

He breathed and then I breathed.

We lived on to do two shows together (SUMMERTREE, Guignol, 1971, and THE NIGHT THOREAU SPENT IN JAIL, 1972).

Moral of the incident?

Two things you should never do;

  • Travel with Tom Hanks, and
  • Have Roger do anything backstage.