When I graduated from Anderson, I wanted to find a school that had a good drama department. Not to say that Anderson didn't, but I wanted to find a department that was serious about the craft. I looked at Lander, but I didn't want to live close to my grandmother, or she might make me stay with her. So, I chose Presbyterian College in Clinton, SC.
At Anderson, I was the Drama King. I had won awards. I had rave reviews. I had fans. I thought I was on top of the world. When I came to PC, I found that I had to prove myself. There were 16 students in the drama program, and 3 of us were named Walter. How odd was that? Maybe some researcher could come up with an explanation like people named Walter needed an escape and chose drama. I don't know. Anyway, there we were.
The Theatre at PC was called Black Magic. It was in a classroom building on the first floor. Naturally, the walls of the Theatre were painted black, and it sat around 100 people. The Theatre could be done to all sorts of configurations, but the most popular was in the round. I had never worked that way before, and it was quite challenging. All of the students, except me, had been at PC since Freshman year. I transferred as a Junior.
The first play they did in the fall of 1974 was "Blithe Spirit". I thought that was great, since I had just done that at AC. I tried out for the lead, but didn't get it. My ego was deflated. Instead, I was named the Stage Manager. I had no idea how to do that, but I quickly learned. I also learned that there were 15 other students who were equally talented as me. This was serious stuff.
Our director was Dr. Rains. Most people called him "D. O.", which were his first and middle initials. At Anderson, no one would ever call Mr. Vivian--"Everett", at least not to his face. PC was much more loose. I was accepted almost immediately into the clan, because we were all there for the same reason--to do quality work.
Another thing I was not used to was the cast party. We didn't have those at Anderson. Let's just say it was held off campus. Enough said. In later blogs, I will talk about the plays we did during those two years that I was at PC. But, just to say for now that there were some great people in that group--Ev, Susan, Joe, Jerry, Pat, Walter, Walter, Budd, Pam, Karen, Larry, Gerald, Ann, Donna, Howard, Becky, Lin, and the rest who came through those doors.
Thursday, March 31, 2016
Monday, March 14, 2016
The Dogwood Tree
I don't think I wrote about this earlier, but I was reminded about it yesterday, so here goes. When I was in elementary school, someone gave the students dogwood trees, which we could plant. I planted mine next to our driveway near the line dividing our house from the house next door. It was on our side of that property line.
The tree never really blossomed. It just stood there. One lone stem, reaching up about six feet. Some called it an eyesore, but it was my tree. We had another dogwood tree nearby that blossomed every year. My tree just stood there, but it was my tree.
Years later, a yard man from next door cut down my tree. He thought it was on the other side of the property line and thus belonged to my neighbors. I was heartbroken. It wasn't so much that the tree was gone. It never amounted to anything, other than a living tree. It was because it was my tree in my yard. When my parents pointed out the deed to my neighbors, they apologized profusely and offered to get us another tree. I said no. It could never replace my tree.
The moral of this story is that it may have not produced flowers, but it was my tree. Maybe some people need to reflect on what that means.
The tree never really blossomed. It just stood there. One lone stem, reaching up about six feet. Some called it an eyesore, but it was my tree. We had another dogwood tree nearby that blossomed every year. My tree just stood there, but it was my tree.
Years later, a yard man from next door cut down my tree. He thought it was on the other side of the property line and thus belonged to my neighbors. I was heartbroken. It wasn't so much that the tree was gone. It never amounted to anything, other than a living tree. It was because it was my tree in my yard. When my parents pointed out the deed to my neighbors, they apologized profusely and offered to get us another tree. I said no. It could never replace my tree.
The moral of this story is that it may have not produced flowers, but it was my tree. Maybe some people need to reflect on what that means.
Sunday, February 28, 2016
Ants
I transferred from Anderson College to Presbyterian College in 1973. My choices were Lander College in Greenwood or PC in Clinton. I didn't want to go to school where my Grandmother lived, so I decided on PC. They had a very good reputation for having a good Drama program, and they did.
My roommate was chosen for me. He was a black basketball player. He liked to party at night and sleep for a couple of hours before getting up to go to class. He had an 8:00am class. Most of my classes didn't start until at least 10am. So, he would get up and put on James Brown's song "I've got ants in my pants, and I need to dance". He used that song to wake up. Unfortunately, it woke me up too. I liked James Brown but not that early.
I lived with this roommate for about a week. I couldn't stand his parties and his schedule. We mutually agreed to seek out other roommates. The dorm counselor found someone for me. His name was Gary, and he was in the same boat as me, because he didn't get along with his assigned roommate. So, Gary and I joined forces. He was a good guy, although somewhat bigoted. We had long talks at night, and by the end of the year, I had helped him work through some of his wrong thoughts. More about that situation later.
My roommate was chosen for me. He was a black basketball player. He liked to party at night and sleep for a couple of hours before getting up to go to class. He had an 8:00am class. Most of my classes didn't start until at least 10am. So, he would get up and put on James Brown's song "I've got ants in my pants, and I need to dance". He used that song to wake up. Unfortunately, it woke me up too. I liked James Brown but not that early.
I lived with this roommate for about a week. I couldn't stand his parties and his schedule. We mutually agreed to seek out other roommates. The dorm counselor found someone for me. His name was Gary, and he was in the same boat as me, because he didn't get along with his assigned roommate. So, Gary and I joined forces. He was a good guy, although somewhat bigoted. We had long talks at night, and by the end of the year, I had helped him work through some of his wrong thoughts. More about that situation later.
Saturday, February 13, 2016
Going Home
Leaving Barcelona meant it was the last day of our Europe trip. We had been through a lot. From an international incident in Israel to almost being mugged in Paris to taking down a Swiss soldier to having a gun pointed at me in Barcelona, it had been a trip that I would remember the rest of my life. One requirement on our trip was never to take a picture of Sandra and Talula without makeup. So, as we were leaving the hotel to get on the bus for the airport, I took a picture of them without makeup. They were not happy about that.
We boarded our plane for home. It was to be an eight-hour flight. We stopped briefly to refuel in Lisbon before heading out for the Atlantic. The stewardess allowed us to stand on the tarmac to say we had been to Portugal. Nine countries in 21 days.
The flight home was long. Some people spent the time sleeping. I listened to music and watched a movie. They showed "Ten from Your Show of Shows" in our cabin. It was very funny. We could see the first class cabin from our seats. They were showing "1776" in there, but our movie was better. I also composed the music to a song that I had written in Israel called "Save the World for the Children". I used my arm to work out the chords for a guitar. Other passengers looked at me funny, but it passed the time. Later on in life, Pope John Paul II blessed my song.
Exhaustion was creeping in. Despite being excited that we were going home, jet lag was also kicking in. On the flight from New York to Greenville, Talula, Sandra and I were sitting on the same row. Talula's head rested on the window. Sandra's head rested on Talula's shoulder. My head rested on Sandra's shoulder. The three musketeers were together for the last time. And, we were asleep.
When the plane landed in Greenville, each family greeted the weary time travelers. My parents took me to a motel for the night and then home the next morning. It took me ten days to get over the jet lag. I had a whole bunch of pictures to develop. About a month later, I went to Sandra's home in Sandy Springs to get some pictures she had that I didn't and vice versa. She went on to the University of Georgia. I went to Presbyterian College. Talula had one more year at Anderson College. We have stayed in touch over the years, but there are a few subjects from the trip which we all promised we would never talk about. I can't write about them here. Hopefully, they will never be shared outside of what we promised. It is just something we have to respect of each other. Maybe one day...
We boarded our plane for home. It was to be an eight-hour flight. We stopped briefly to refuel in Lisbon before heading out for the Atlantic. The stewardess allowed us to stand on the tarmac to say we had been to Portugal. Nine countries in 21 days.
The flight home was long. Some people spent the time sleeping. I listened to music and watched a movie. They showed "Ten from Your Show of Shows" in our cabin. It was very funny. We could see the first class cabin from our seats. They were showing "1776" in there, but our movie was better. I also composed the music to a song that I had written in Israel called "Save the World for the Children". I used my arm to work out the chords for a guitar. Other passengers looked at me funny, but it passed the time. Later on in life, Pope John Paul II blessed my song.
Exhaustion was creeping in. Despite being excited that we were going home, jet lag was also kicking in. On the flight from New York to Greenville, Talula, Sandra and I were sitting on the same row. Talula's head rested on the window. Sandra's head rested on Talula's shoulder. My head rested on Sandra's shoulder. The three musketeers were together for the last time. And, we were asleep.
When the plane landed in Greenville, each family greeted the weary time travelers. My parents took me to a motel for the night and then home the next morning. It took me ten days to get over the jet lag. I had a whole bunch of pictures to develop. About a month later, I went to Sandra's home in Sandy Springs to get some pictures she had that I didn't and vice versa. She went on to the University of Georgia. I went to Presbyterian College. Talula had one more year at Anderson College. We have stayed in touch over the years, but there are a few subjects from the trip which we all promised we would never talk about. I can't write about them here. Hopefully, they will never be shared outside of what we promised. It is just something we have to respect of each other. Maybe one day...
Sunday, January 31, 2016
Barcelona
Our last morning in Paris was cold and rainy. The day before, the girls and I had visited a perfume store near our hotel. They had decided that there was a men's cologne that "turned them on". It was Paco Rabanne pour Homme. I went back to that store the next day and bought a bottle. A year later, my brother got married and honeymooned in Paris. I asked him to pick up another bottle of that cologne at the same shop as before. He did. I still have both bottles some 40+ years later. I don't suppose it would smell quite the same. I dare not try.
We flew to Barcelona, which was the last real stop on our 21-day tour. Barcelona was sunny and hot. When we would land at an airport, the officials would breeze us through, because we were in a tour group. I thought Barcelona would be the same, so I got my luggage and headed to the front door to catch our bus. I heard a man yell behind me, "Alto! Alto!". I just kept walking and thinking that I was more of a baritone. Then, a Spanish soldier stuck a machine gun in my face and yelled "Alto!". I learned that he was telling me to stop. I also learned that it is important to know a little of the language. He ushered me back to Customs. I tried to tell him that I was not bringing in anything, but he pushed me with his gun to stand in a line that I really didn't need to be in.
Spain was still controlled by Franco in 1973. His picture was everywhere, and we found Barcelona to be rather boring, compared to some of the other cities we had been to like Paris, London, Berlin, Lucerne, and others. After we got to our hotel and checked in, the girls and I went walking. They found a dress shop that I had to go with them, as I was their protector. Boring. We found an open-air market, where people sold fruits and vegetables. Boring. We then found a nine-store department store. That was more interesting. I used to say that when a store said that they sold everything, my question would always be--"Do they sell trees?" If the answer was no, then they didn't sell everything. This store sold everything. One regret was that I didn't buy the Spanish Beatles albums, but I wasn't into collecting records at that time. As I was looking through the records, I noticed that the girls were gone. I couldn't have Mr. Vivian yelling at me again for losing them, so I went running through the store (all nine floors). They were nowhere to be found. After much searching, I went downstairs to the first floor and waited for them. They showed up, and it turned out that they were looking for me, as I was looking for them. We were going around in circles.
The next day, we toured Barcelona. We went to a big cathedral; the Picasso museum; a Columbus statue; and a glass-blowing place. One of our tour members bought a sword-shaped letter opener. She tried to take it on the plane, but they wouldn't let her have it. They never asked me about the knife I carried with me for protection. Go figure.
One of the people on our tour was a Spanish teacher. It turned out that she couldn't read the menu, because her Spanish was different. When we flew into the airport the day before, we saw a beach. The girls and I wanted to go to the beach, but the hotel guy said that it was 40 miles away. So, we didn't go. The girls wanted to call home, because we were flying out the next day back to the States. The hotel desk clerk said that the telephone lines were down due to a recent forest fire. We found out later that he just didn't want to be bothered. He directed us to the local post office, and they had phones that worked. So, those were the phones we used. I hear that Barcelona is better now, since they hosted the Olympics. I hope so.
We flew to Barcelona, which was the last real stop on our 21-day tour. Barcelona was sunny and hot. When we would land at an airport, the officials would breeze us through, because we were in a tour group. I thought Barcelona would be the same, so I got my luggage and headed to the front door to catch our bus. I heard a man yell behind me, "Alto! Alto!". I just kept walking and thinking that I was more of a baritone. Then, a Spanish soldier stuck a machine gun in my face and yelled "Alto!". I learned that he was telling me to stop. I also learned that it is important to know a little of the language. He ushered me back to Customs. I tried to tell him that I was not bringing in anything, but he pushed me with his gun to stand in a line that I really didn't need to be in.
Spain was still controlled by Franco in 1973. His picture was everywhere, and we found Barcelona to be rather boring, compared to some of the other cities we had been to like Paris, London, Berlin, Lucerne, and others. After we got to our hotel and checked in, the girls and I went walking. They found a dress shop that I had to go with them, as I was their protector. Boring. We found an open-air market, where people sold fruits and vegetables. Boring. We then found a nine-store department store. That was more interesting. I used to say that when a store said that they sold everything, my question would always be--"Do they sell trees?" If the answer was no, then they didn't sell everything. This store sold everything. One regret was that I didn't buy the Spanish Beatles albums, but I wasn't into collecting records at that time. As I was looking through the records, I noticed that the girls were gone. I couldn't have Mr. Vivian yelling at me again for losing them, so I went running through the store (all nine floors). They were nowhere to be found. After much searching, I went downstairs to the first floor and waited for them. They showed up, and it turned out that they were looking for me, as I was looking for them. We were going around in circles.
The next day, we toured Barcelona. We went to a big cathedral; the Picasso museum; a Columbus statue; and a glass-blowing place. One of our tour members bought a sword-shaped letter opener. She tried to take it on the plane, but they wouldn't let her have it. They never asked me about the knife I carried with me for protection. Go figure.
One of the people on our tour was a Spanish teacher. It turned out that she couldn't read the menu, because her Spanish was different. When we flew into the airport the day before, we saw a beach. The girls and I wanted to go to the beach, but the hotel guy said that it was 40 miles away. So, we didn't go. The girls wanted to call home, because we were flying out the next day back to the States. The hotel desk clerk said that the telephone lines were down due to a recent forest fire. We found out later that he just didn't want to be bothered. He directed us to the local post office, and they had phones that worked. So, those were the phones we used. I hear that Barcelona is better now, since they hosted the Olympics. I hope so.
Thursday, January 14, 2016
Paris
We toured Paris on a Sunday. I was so looking forward to using my 5 years of French. While waiting for our bus, a French man approached me. He started speaking very fast in French. I couldn't understand a word he said. I knew he was asking for directions, but that was about it. I had to tell him that I didn't know, because I was an American. My ego was deflated. I found out later that they teach French spoken on the Riviera in American schools. Parisian French is different. Oh well.
Our first stop was the Louvre. Beautiful artwork. We also went to the Modern Art museum. The group thought that I could interpret the paintings, especially of Picasso. I just made up meanings, and everybody said they could see the meanings I was saying. Weird.
While we were at the modern art museum, there was a guy on roller skates and an umbrella doing his art. People were giving him money for opening and closing the umbrella. I guess art is in the eye of the beholder.
We didn't get to go to the Eiffel Tower, but we did see it from an overlook. The girls had their pictures taken on the ledge. It was the same spot that Hitler had viewed the tower some 30 years before. We did go to the Arc de Triumphe. The cars were whizzing by and there were no traffic lights. I almost got killed twice to get the pictures I wanted. But, I got them.
That night, the girls went to bed, so I walked over to the park that I had been to the night before. It was cold and misty. As I was sitting by the fountain, I saw a man approach me. I got up and started to walk away. He continued to follow me. I figured that he was probably out to rob me, so I proceeded to walk a little faster. He did too. By this time, I was getting toward a street. There were a few cars going by, so I ran in between two cars to try and shake him. He followed me through the traffic. I found a street more heavily traveled. I ran between more cars, and he stopped chasing me. I doubled back to the hotel to make sure I had lost him. Maybe he was friends with Sam, Omar and Sam from Jerusalem. I don't know. But, I thought that folks only got mugged in New York, not Paris. I am glad I didn't become a statistic. I am also glad I didn't have to explain it to a policeman, as he wouldn't be able to understand my French, and I wouldn't be able to understand him.
After I got back to the hotel, the girls wanted to go for ice cream at a restaurant nearby. The waitress was rude to us. After all, we were Americans.
Our first stop was the Louvre. Beautiful artwork. We also went to the Modern Art museum. The group thought that I could interpret the paintings, especially of Picasso. I just made up meanings, and everybody said they could see the meanings I was saying. Weird.
While we were at the modern art museum, there was a guy on roller skates and an umbrella doing his art. People were giving him money for opening and closing the umbrella. I guess art is in the eye of the beholder.
We didn't get to go to the Eiffel Tower, but we did see it from an overlook. The girls had their pictures taken on the ledge. It was the same spot that Hitler had viewed the tower some 30 years before. We did go to the Arc de Triumphe. The cars were whizzing by and there were no traffic lights. I almost got killed twice to get the pictures I wanted. But, I got them.
That night, the girls went to bed, so I walked over to the park that I had been to the night before. It was cold and misty. As I was sitting by the fountain, I saw a man approach me. I got up and started to walk away. He continued to follow me. I figured that he was probably out to rob me, so I proceeded to walk a little faster. He did too. By this time, I was getting toward a street. There were a few cars going by, so I ran in between two cars to try and shake him. He followed me through the traffic. I found a street more heavily traveled. I ran between more cars, and he stopped chasing me. I doubled back to the hotel to make sure I had lost him. Maybe he was friends with Sam, Omar and Sam from Jerusalem. I don't know. But, I thought that folks only got mugged in New York, not Paris. I am glad I didn't become a statistic. I am also glad I didn't have to explain it to a policeman, as he wouldn't be able to understand my French, and I wouldn't be able to understand him.
After I got back to the hotel, the girls wanted to go for ice cream at a restaurant nearby. The waitress was rude to us. After all, we were Americans.
Friday, January 1, 2016
The Train
We left Lucerne the next morning on the train bound for Paris. The girls and I got a private compartment. Mr. Vivian didn't want us to close the blinds to the corridor. I guess he didn't want any hanky panky going on in there. We used the seats as two beds and took turns lying down using a leg of someone else as a pillow.
The train took us through the Alps on the way to Paris. It was an all-day trip. Somewhere along the way, the train picked up a group of Portuguese soldiers. They were supposed to be in second class, but they spilled out onto the corridor outside our compartment. They went a little crazy, when they saw the girls. I tried to keep them from opening the door to our first class place. They were banging on the glass. The conductor showed up and cleared the aisle. He made them go back to second class, but they soon came back. I was wearing the wedding ring from the play to help in protection of the girls. One of the soldiers was drooling over seeing Sandra, so I pointed at my ring and pointed at her. He pointed at his finger with no ring and pointed at her. He laughed. We didn't. What was it about us and run-ins with soldiers? The conductor came back and this time he barred them from our area.
We went to the dining car to get something to eat, and Sandra broke a tooth. When we got to Paris, she couldn't eat. I checked with the concierge about a dentist. It was Saturday night. I phoned a dentist, who spoke little English, but he worked at the American Hospital. (Go figure) I told him in French that it was an emergency. Sandra was in pain. The dentist didn't want to leave his house, so he told me that it wasn't an emergency, and for her to take some aspirin and find some candle wax to put on the spot. She could wait until getting back home in 4 days. It was not the news we wanted to hear, but we got some wax from the concierge, and Sandra went to bed. The other girls wanted to relax, so I went out walking in the neighborhood that night. I found a nice park with a fountain. I sat for an hour and reflected on the trip so far. I had wanted to go out to Maxim's for dinner, but that didn't work out. At least, my five years of French helped a bit.
The train took us through the Alps on the way to Paris. It was an all-day trip. Somewhere along the way, the train picked up a group of Portuguese soldiers. They were supposed to be in second class, but they spilled out onto the corridor outside our compartment. They went a little crazy, when they saw the girls. I tried to keep them from opening the door to our first class place. They were banging on the glass. The conductor showed up and cleared the aisle. He made them go back to second class, but they soon came back. I was wearing the wedding ring from the play to help in protection of the girls. One of the soldiers was drooling over seeing Sandra, so I pointed at my ring and pointed at her. He pointed at his finger with no ring and pointed at her. He laughed. We didn't. What was it about us and run-ins with soldiers? The conductor came back and this time he barred them from our area.
We went to the dining car to get something to eat, and Sandra broke a tooth. When we got to Paris, she couldn't eat. I checked with the concierge about a dentist. It was Saturday night. I phoned a dentist, who spoke little English, but he worked at the American Hospital. (Go figure) I told him in French that it was an emergency. Sandra was in pain. The dentist didn't want to leave his house, so he told me that it wasn't an emergency, and for her to take some aspirin and find some candle wax to put on the spot. She could wait until getting back home in 4 days. It was not the news we wanted to hear, but we got some wax from the concierge, and Sandra went to bed. The other girls wanted to relax, so I went out walking in the neighborhood that night. I found a nice park with a fountain. I sat for an hour and reflected on the trip so far. I had wanted to go out to Maxim's for dinner, but that didn't work out. At least, my five years of French helped a bit.
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