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#and eddie is a hoodlum apparently
doverstar · 2 years
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Some more fun facts about my husband, who I've said looks/acts a lot like a Christian version of Eddie, because I like talking about him and these just came to mind a moment ago while he was eating takeout upside-down on the floor.
He's a big hit at weddings because of how he dances. He has natural rhythm and fantastic hip movement, but it's a big hit specifically because he doesn't do any traditional dance moves. He just moves his long arms and legs in an insane way. He can dance for hours.
He was in the marching band in high school, but according to legend, he was the most problematic member. When they practiced on the football field, he would bring sunflower seeds (not allowed) and mess up the field by spitting the shells out into a huge pile wherever he'd been standing. He used to give the seeds to other band members so they could use the spit-out shells to mark their places until the field was littered with sunflower seeds and his teacher banned them from bringing snacks. Husband did it anyway and created a seed smuggling ring.
The band went to play at Disney World one year and Husband's friend joked that he wanted a pink MagicBand for the trip. The band teacher sneered at that and made some rude comment about boys and pink. So my husband went out and bought a highlighter-pink T-shirt and wore it every day of the trip when he wasn't in uniform, to the teacher's irritation.
He pretends to die sometimes when I kiss him on the cheek or head. Usually on the couch. Eyes roll up in his head, tongue lolling out.
If he's talking and he trips over something in the middle of a sentence, or misses a step on a flight of stairs, or loses his footing at all for a moment, he has a habit of making a big obnoxious show of suddenly losing all balance and ending up on the ground like a starfish. For the laugh.
Makes the husky meme face after every punchline he delivers. It's his contact photo on my phone.
He thinks Boromir is the best LOTR character and quotes him often. Paused the Two Towers movie about four times to talk loudly, at 3 AM, about Boromir and his love for Boromir, and I almost felt threatened.
At our wedding, I got him a huge viking flask made of oak to drink out of, and he takes it to D&D sessions.
He's currently reading Dragons of Autumn Twilight by Margaret Weis and Tracy Hickman, something I 100% believe Eddie has read.
Calls me love, buddy, and gorgeous as nicknames.
Has a habit of drinking milk, juice, soda, etc. straight out of the jug/carton/2-liter even before it's near empty. Really likes milk.
He will get up at all hours of the night and snack on anything he can find. Goldfish, granola bars, pie in the fridge, the last of the orange juice, Cheeze-Its. He likes Trail Mix without M&Ms and when we were in the friends-to-lovers stage, I once picked out every M&M in my Trail Mix and gave it to him and he apparently kept it for a week without eating it because he liked me.
He has a collection of CDs stashed in his car that are all metal, rock, and variants of that. I think they're alphabetized.
He drove a red Mustang he named Rose (her shift knob is a resin, red rose he bought for decoration) until about five months ago. It is the loudest, most Hoodlum™ car ever and we have been pulled over for no reason more than once, because it really just makes him look like trouble. I reserve the right to dump my appreciation for my fella anywhere. But like I said, little things about him inspire a lot of my Eddie writing, so enjoy if you're interested in my inner mechanisms.
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vxnevermorevx · 5 years
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Welcome to my mind
For the last three years, my mind has been... Well, shit. Not that it hadn't been on a steady decline for years prior.
Recently, someone named her Denise. My other me. "Because that's what she is..when something is the opposite of something it's de-. She's not nice, she's De-Nice..."
Denise.
The name give to the me that's not me but spends more time pretending to be me than I do.
*Character Bio*
When I'm not Denise, I'm Ginny and she was the most wonderful person. I miss her dearly.
I had a great childhood. Very few psychological events, in my opinion. We never had much money, but my mom made sure I never knew it. My father worked hard at both his job and destroying his marriage; which is probably one of the marks on my childhood. More to come on that, I'm sure.
I didn't have trouble in school, per se. Bullied only a handful of times in all my school years. My mom is a designer, so I wore things you couldn't find on stores throughout my whole school life. I was *always* ahead of the trend and some kids couldn't handle it. We're talking 1991-2003. So, jumpers, corsets, mesh dusters, pants with fur on the bottom, dressing like anime characters... I was the first of everyone around me to be dressing that way. And I loved it!
But I had my revenge, as my hecklers could be seen wearing the same things they made fun of me for, after it became trendy. I guess you didn't have to be dead to be caught wearing that after all...
I struggled in math and excelled in art and writing. I had mostly good teachers, I think only one hated me.
I met all my best friends there. Can't say I've made all that many more in the years since. But, in my defense I'm surrounded by people who are nothing like me. You see, I grew up in Florida. All my vital youthful years were spent there. And now I live near Portland, Oregon. God, why? I even lost one of my dearest friends to the city. She completely changed from a fun, artistic girl who liked to draw, read, and cook...to...one of them. She's now a guilt vegan ( let's you know how disgusting you are for eating meat ) and is obsessed with shows that need to be cancelled. I had known this girl since first grade, she said she would follow the first friend who loved out of state. That was me, so she came out here too. Our friendship immediately began deteriorating as she would not allow me in my own room during the day, because she was talking to some loser friend of hers online. This person left her in a Walgreen's 20 miles from her home, on the wrong side of town, when we were all barely old enough to drive, because she was taking too long looking at eyeliner. But, she sounds like a solid individual to begin emulating. Are you serious? I watched my fully replacement take effect. 20 years of friendship completely gone in a matter of months. Have you ever watched someone stop carrying about you? Think about it. No, don't think about it. It's awful. She even physically ended our friendship. The first I had ever experienced. It was wrenching. But, I'm too far ahead now. I need to tell you how I got to Oregon.
Somewhere around me being 16, my dad stopped coming home. His mother had recently died and he knew some pretty shitty people willing to help him take the pain away. How does a poor, dyslexic, hoodlum, with a history of abuse cure the blues? Crack, of course. My mom did all she knew how to do, but she was pretty done with it all. They got divorced and some rich old lady "saved" him and whisked him off to Maryland where he would suffer many years of depression for what he had done to his family.
Now, it was just my mother and me. I immediately got a job and gave her my entire paycheck to help keep us in our lovely house. But as fate would have it, the city claimed eminent domain on our house with plans to build a water treatment facility. So, they lowballed us on what our house was worth and gave us 6 months to move. Now, here's some important side information: my mom is an army brat who grew up with mountains her whole life, until moving to Florida for my dad, which was apparently one of the last places she ever wanted to be. And my chummy from another tummy, was born in Oregon and had recently left me to go to OSU. This girl is my sister by all counts but blood. So, with a few other helping factors the logical answer was to start anew. How completely different my life would have been if I stayed. Can't say it would be better, just 100% different from what it is now.
But, in 2005 we moved to Oregon on the promise that we would do all the things we wanted to do and be living in Seattle in a few years.
None of that worked out. I can still remember the first night we spent in our apartment. I hated it. I let everyone know too. I think I cried for a week. I just wanted to go home. My Sisi was too far away to see her more often than the weekends and slowly her grades began to falter. This led to her dropping out and moving back to Florida just five months after I moved out here for her. I fell apart. I had only my mom and I love her, but sometimes you need your friends... You know? We did what we could and took jobs we hated and tried to get used to our new surroundings. I'm apparently a spoiled brat so I'm sure I made things painful for my mom who was finally back in her element and here I was stomping around telling everyone how much I hated it. Hate it. Present tense. I know the whole world is a cess pool of hipster, millennial idiots who all think that they know how to run the world, but the concentration of their free-for-all holier-than-thou ways is as dense here as the trees. It's exhausting listening to people who haven't showered in a week tell you how special they are because they have this heightened awareness that they learned from some Joe Blow and happens to not be fact at all. I have had a 24 year old Hispanic girl tell me that only white people can be racist, everyone else is prejudice. I told her that that in itself was a racist statement. And she said "no it's not. My teacher told me, and she has a PhD." I don't think I need to explain the definition of racism, but I do think Manson could have thrived in this town.
Fast forward quite a few years and we are both still in Oregon working jobs we hate not getting any of the things done we said we would. Are we lazy? Are we depressed? I'm sure it's both.
But, a small miracle comes my way, as I'm getting dressed to go down to the office to sign the next years lease I get a call from a woman who used to work with me. She asks if we are still looking for a new place to live and I tell her yes! We end up renting her townhouse from her because she's getting married. She proves to be a terrible landlord, probably because she's not all that good at being a person. She's really great at other things, but not that. Somme people are like that. But, I also haven't learned how to speak Oregonian in the 14 years I have been here.
A few more years and we end up buying the house and I have changed jobs for my health and things are looking up. I lose some of the weight I had acquired in my sorrows. I even find a guy that I can tolerate. Mostly bc he's 4000 miles away in another country. But, I struggle to find my way in our incredibly mismatched relationship. And he's so smart. So, successful... Here it comes... "what's he doing with a loser like me?"
My friends.... They all have something to show for their lives: degrees, children (Im not interested in these things,) husbands, jobs they don't hate....
I have a mortgage and a ridiculously high HOA, two payed off cars, 50 extra pounds on my ass, a job I'm not particularly built for, and a guy whom I love differently than he loves me.
I'm killing it.... Or myself. One way or the other. "I still haven't figured that shit out yet " -Eddie Murphy
I think this a pretty good place to stop for now. You should have a good amount of reference points for the following posts which will entirely be me, describing my chronic severe depression hoping that someone somewhere might read it and know they are not alone. I feel such a sense of validation when I read something from someone who feels the same as I do. This blog isn't for attention or critiquing, as most will likely be written when things like grammar and story structure aren't focused on. It's purely to get the chaos out so, I can organize it.
I don't know who you are but if you're reading this far, please stay tuned if you want to say "Wow, that's exactly how I feel."
Do good.
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eyeofhorus237 · 5 years
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Welcome Back, Kotter is an American sitcom starring Gabe Kaplan as a sardonic high school teacher in charge of a racially and ethnically diverse remedial class called the "Sweathogs". Recorded in front of a live studio audience, it originally aired on ABC from September 9, 1975, to May 17, 1979.[1]
Premise
The show stars stand-up comedian and actor Gabriel "Gabe" Kaplan as the title character, Gabe Kotter, a wisecracking teacher who returns to his alma mater, James Buchanan High School in Bensonhurst, Brooklyn, New York, to teach a remedial class of loafers, called "Sweathogs". The school's principal is referred to, but rarely seen on-screen. The rigid vice principal, Michael Woodman (John Sylvester White), dismisses the Sweathogs as witless hoodlums, and only expects Kotter to contain them until they drop out or are otherwise banished. As a former remedial student, and a founding member of the original class of Sweathogs, Kotter befriends the current Sweathogs and stimulates their potential. A pupil-teacher rapport is formed, and the students often visit Kotter's Bensonhurst apartment, sometimes via the fire-escape window, much to the chagrin of his wife, Julie (Marcia Strassman).
The Sweathogs celebrate a winning lottery ticket as Mr. Kotter looks on.
The fictional James Buchanan High is based on the Brooklyn high school that Kaplan attended in real life, New Utrecht High School,[2]which is also shown in the opening credits. Many of the show's characters were also based on people Kaplan knew during his teen years as a remedial student, several of whom were described in one of Kaplan's stand-up comic routines entitled "Holes and Mellow Rolls". "Vinnie Barbarino" was inspired by Eddie Lecarri and Ray Barbarino; "Freddie 'Boom Boom' Washington" was inspired by Freddie "Furdy" Peyton; "Juan Epstein" was partially inspired by Epstein "The Animal"; however, "Arnold Horshack" was unchanged.
Characters
Gabe Kotter
Played by Gabe Kaplan
Gabe Kotter is a flippant but well-meaning teacher who returns to his alma mater, James Buchanan High, to teach a group of remedial students known as the Sweathogs. Being a founding member of the original Sweathogs, Kotter has a special understanding of the potential of these supposedly "unteachable" students. On his first day on the job, he launches into a Groucho Marx impersonation. Kotter is married to Julie, with whom he eventually has twin girls, Robin and Rachel. It is confirmed by Julie in the episode "Follow the Leader (part 1)" that Gabe is Jewish. During season four, Kaplan had contract issues with the executive producer, and only appeared in a handful of episodes. In season four, the invisible principal John Lazarus retires, and Kotter becomes the vice-principal. Though he is said to maintain some social studies teaching duties, most of that season's shows are filmed outside his classroom (#11), or if in room 11, Mr. Woodman is teaching. To minimize Kotter's absence, scenes were shot in either the school's hallway, the schoolyard, or the principal's waiting area. Season four ended the series.
Julie Kotter[d by Marcia Strassman
Julie Kotter is Gabe's wife and closest friend. Though she has a sense of humor, she often wishes Gabe would take matters more seriously. She is occasionally upset with the amount of time her husband spends with his students, and she is troubled that he allows them to visit their apartment regularly; in the two-part story arc "Follow the Leader", the Sweathogs' constant intrusions lead Julie to separate briefly from Gabe and even seriously consider divorce. Originally from Nebraska, with a college degree in anthropology, Julie eventually becomes a secretary at Buchanan, and later a substitute teacher after Gabe's promotion to vice-principal. She makes several references to her "world famous tuna casserole", a common meal at the Kotter dinner table, which Gabe and the Sweathogs dislike.
Michael Woodman
Played by John Sylvester White
Michael Woodman is the curmudgeonly vice-principal (and later principal) of Buchanan High. He makes no secret of his dislike for the Sweathogs, whom he considers the bottom of the social register at his school. He refers to non-Sweathogs as "real" students. When Kotter was a student at Buchanan, Woodman taught social studies, the same class Kotter returns to Buchanan to teach. His old age, and sometimes his diminutive height, are common jokes with the Sweathogs. Woodman is totally against Kotter's unorthodox teaching methods, and at one point even puts Kotter in front of the school's review board in an unsuccessful attempt to have him fired. As the series progresses, Woodman begins to tolerate them marginally. In the season one episode "No More Mr. Nice Guy", Woodman is shown to be a gifted teacher, willing to wear historic costumes, and role-play in front of the class during his lessons.
Vincent "Vinnie" Barbarino
Played by John Travolta
Vinnie Barbarino is a cocky Italian-American, the "unofficial official" leader and resident heartthrob of the Sweathogs. He has a need to be the center of attention, as seen when he admits to making it rain in the school gymnasium. In the two-episode "Follow the Leader", Barbarino quits the Sweathogs and drops out of school in anger when Freddy Washington is chosen as the "leader" of the group, though he returns as leader at the finish of the story. Barbarino's prowess with women is sometimes a source of envy (and more often amusement) among his classmates. On occasion, he breaks out in song about his last name sung to the tune of "Barbara Ann". He was the first of the Sweathogs to move out on his own when he got a job as a hospital orderly. In the first episode of the series and fourth season, he has a girlfriend, Sally. Vinnie is Catholic (often describing his mother as a saint), and, as shown in "I'm Having Their Baby", is a Star Trek fan. Little is known about Vinnie's home life other than that his parents argue a lot ("Follow the Leader (part 2)") and take turns beating him when in a mutual rage. His mother's name is Margie ("The Great Debate"), and he shares a bed with his brother. The episode "Don't Come Up And See Me Sometime" implies that Vinnie is the older of the two. Travolta himself was a high school drop-out.[3]
The character is seen less frequently in season 4, appearing in only 8 of the first 15 episodes of the season, before leaving the series entirely.
Arnold Dingfelder Horshack
Played by Ron Palillo
The class clown of the Sweathogs, Arnold Horshack, is completely comfortable with his oddball, if naïve, personality. Horshack was known for his unique observations and his wheezing laugh, similar to that of a hyena. (Palillo revealed on a 1995 episode of The Jenny Jones Show that it originated from the way his father breathed during the last two weeks of his life as he lay dying from lung cancer.) It is possible that academically he is the smartest Sweathog. He is the only central Sweathog character to be promoted out of remedial academics class, but he soon returns after feeling out of place. He has an affection for acting and enjoys old movies, particularly 1930s musicals. He eventually marries Mary Johnson, a co-worker and fellow Sweathog. Although his surname sounds like a term for a bordello, he claims it is a "very old and respected name" meaning "the cattle are dying." His middle name (and his mother's maiden name) is "Dingfelder".
Freddie Percy "Boom Boom" Washington
Played by Lawrence Hilton-Jacobs
The hip, black student known as the athletic Sweathog for his skills on the basketball court, Washington claimed his nickname came from his habit of "pretending to play the bass"and singing "Boom-boom-boom-boom!". His trademark phrase is, "Hi, there" (spoken with a deep voice and a broad smile). Though often the voice of reason among his classmates, Washington nonetheless is a willing participant in the Sweathogs' various antics and pranks. Freddie also finds success as a radio disc jockey along with another former Sweathog, Wally "The Wow" (played by George Carlin). At one point, Washington challenges Barbarino for leadership of the Sweathogs, and even replaces him for a time until the group grows tired of his dictatorial style.
Washington has an older sister, who got divorced twice while living in Vermont ("The Longest Weekend"), and a brother, Leroy. In "The Great Debate" it is revealed that he has another brother, Douglas, and that his father's name is Lincoln. Kotter uses his own past to bond with Freddie, because in addition to being a former Sweathog he was also a former star of Buchanan's basketball team.
Juan Luis Pedro Felipo de Huevos Epstein
Played by Robert Hegyes
A fiercely proud Puerto Rican Jew (when asked if his mother was Puerto Rican, Juan replies that his mother's maiden name was Bibbermann and that his grandfather saw Puerto Rico from the ship as he was making his way to America and decided to settle there instead of Miami, making him one of the earliest Puerto Rican Jews; Juan is thus Puerto Rican on his father's side and Jewish on both parents' sides), Epstein is one of the toughest students at Buchanan High, despite his short stature. He normally walks with a tough-man strut, wears a red handkerchief hanging out of his right back pocket, and was voted "Most Likely to Take a Life" by his peers. In the season one episode, "One of Our Sweathogs Is Missing", Epstein was said to be the sixth of ten children (when speaking on the phone to his mother (who had failed to notice that he had been missing for three days), she apparently failed to recognize his name and he had to further identify himself as "Number Six"), although he later mentions, in "I'm Having Their Baby", that his mother only gave birth eight times, implying two of them were twin births. Only four of his siblings are mentioned by name: his brothers Pedro, Irving, and Sanchez ("One of Our Sweathogs Is Missing"), establishing that some of his siblings had Jewish names and others Puerto Rican names, and a younger sister, Carmen ("A Love Story"). Epstein's toughness was downplayed later on, and he became more of a wiseguy. He was also known to have a "buddy" relationship with Principal Lazarus as he often refers to him by his first name, Jack. On a few occasions, when Kotter did his Groucho Marx impersonation, Epstein would jump in and impersonate Chico Marx or Harpo Marx. Epstein's diminutive height, large hair, and fake excuse notes (always signed, "Epstein's Mother"), are common jokes associated with him.
Recurring characters
Rosalie "Hotsie" Totsie
Played by Debralee Scott
Rosie Totsie is the femme fatale purported to have put the "sweat" in Sweathog, though her reputation is largely exaggerated by the Sweathogs' word of mouth. Her promiscuity is at least in part a reaction to the strict discipline enforced by her father, the Reverend Totsie. To restore her good name, and to prove a point, she fabricates a story about one of the Sweathogs getting her pregnant. The character was a favorite among male viewers but was phased out of the series at the end of the first season when Scott was picked to co-star in the syndicated Norman Lear comedy, Mary Hartman, Mary Hartman.[citation needed] She reprised the role in a 1978 episode, "The Return of Hotsie Totsie", in which it was revealed that she dropped out of school because she became pregnant and had to become a stripper to support her infant child.
Judy Borden
Played by Helaine Lembeck
A recurring non-Sweathog character in the earlier seasons, Borden is a Straight A student and editor of the Buchanan Bugle, the school newspaper. She was Barbarino's tutor, and even dated him at one point. Despite her academic superiority, she can easily hold her own in a Dozens contest against any Sweathog.
Beauregarde "Beau" De LaBarre
Played by Stephen Shortridge
Introduced as a regular character in the fourth and final season, Beau is a handsome, friendly, blond, silver-tongued southerner who transfers from New Orleans after being kicked out of several other schools. He ends up in Kotter's class. The producers sought a heart throb who was not a direct knock-off of the "Italian-Stallion" trend that was permeating Hollywood in the mid-1970s who would improve ratings in the South where the show's New York setting was seen as unrelatable. They wanted to retain female viewers, but avoid a Travolta clone. Beau's first reaction to the term "Sweathog" is, "That sounds gross." He seems to have a way with women, as shown in later episodes. One of his running jokes involves imparting whimsical sayings, such as one about how a real man never steps on a pregnant alligator.
Other recurring characters
Vernee Watson as Verna Jean Williams, Freddie's girlfriend.
Susan Lanier as Bambi, a female addition to the Sweathogs introduced mostly as eye candy.[citation needed]
Charles Fleischer as Carvelli, introduced as a student foil to the Sweathogs in Season 2.
Bob Harcum as Murray, Carvelli's loyal, and extremely dim, sidekick.
Dennis Bowen as Todd Ludlow, a nerdy academic high achiever.
Geoffrey Stump as Kyle "the Heartbreaker" Lucas
Irene Arranga as Mary Johnson, later became Arnold Horshack's wife.
Melonie Haller as Angie Grabowski, introduced in Season 3 as the only official female Sweathog but was gone by the end of the season.
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the-coolest-mallard · 4 years
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Homework Woes
Yes, you guessed it. Louie and his experience with homework.
Words required for Lena: 2006 exactly
There were days like today where Louie desperately wished he could just drop out of school and become a gangster. Or maybe he’d ditch school and join a circus. Or somehow out of the blue he’d make it big in a rock band and never have to study for any test or do any homework ever again. Oh how badly he wished he could do any of those things instead of stare down the assignment that Mr. Lyons had given them because he hated his students. Louie was sure the guy had to be hating them.
And okay, Simba Lyons was a cool dude when he wasn’t teaching. But teaching meant that he gave Louie stuff to do, and Louie didn’t like stuff. Especially not stuff about the medieval times and the days where people smelled really bad and thought kings were the shit. Maybe the kings had the shits, but Louie was fairly sure not a single one of those old farts was any good. The only dude that was interesting was one of the Henrys, and only because he went full psycho!
But no, here was Louie, stuck writing a paper on some asshole King Richard III. Well, he was doing his best. But Uncle Donald was working, and Huey was off doing who knew what, so Louie didn’t really have any good helpers to make sure his work made sense so far. As he glanced down at what he had, he couldn’t help but be dismayed by his efforts.
Rihard the third was burn the youngest sun and was considred to be a loser. No one cared.
Well, at least Louie could kind of sympathize for the dude. Like Louie, he was the youngest probably talentless guy who nobody really cared about. Though he would guess that this Richard dude could probably spell better than Louie could. His letters were all over the place. He was all over the place. He was pretty sure this Richard dude caused a big family drama, but he wasn’t sure that he had the right family drama written down. He knew about the Henry that chopped heads off, but that wasn’t the Henry that Richard’s family was against. At least he was pretty sure. Why did English history have to have so many repeated names for royalty? It was so damn confusing!
Okay focus Louie. Focus! He told himself, eyebrows furrowing as he glanced at the textbook he had, as well as extra material he’d researched on academic sites online. Well, he’d found an article or two before he’d completely lost focus and started playing games on his computer. But he was getting there. Slowly. Probably. Well he had like two sentences written in his draft. That was two more than there had been an hour ago. God help him. Louie was going to die writing this paper, he was sure of it. 
For a moment Louie found himself tempted to try to reach out to Mark. Maybe he’d text Mark about how the next guy to die by crazy medieval death would be Louie! Or he’d text Mark and tell him that he couldn’t do anymore of this paper and that he should come over. Or he should send Mark cool pictures of himself and insist Mark send some back. Anything other than actually work on this medieval paper for History class. “Okay...okay if i just add this part here. This part is important I can do that and it’ll be...yeah.”
Richard’s bro Edward became King of England after people bitched about who was sposed to be King. He becm King Edward IV on March 4th, 1461. This made our guy Richie a royal prince.
Louie dropped his pen and sighed, staring at the tragic abyss that was all the blank space of his notebook. He’d had to ban himself from his computer to write it (though it would have good spellcheck, because there were just too many ways to distract himself on there) and now he felt like his hand was going to die. He’d only written a few sentences. God, why couldn’t Louie be smart like his brother? Or at least let him be smart for these occasions where it kind of mattered? Louie dreamed of getting through this paper with minimal crying.
His head jerked up at that, and he found his fingers already twitching for his phone. Speaking of crying, Louie should text Tae and see how bad off he had it with this whole thing. He was pretty sure Tae would hate this just as much as he did. Louie debated over what to say, before he grinned and just sent: ‘couldn’t give a fuck bot dis Richard dude. Howre u doin with ur old fart paper?’ Louie then forced himself to set his phone aside again and stare at the words on his computer screen. This Richard dude dealt with a fucked up situation. That part Louie had been able to focus on. It was just hard to write about said fucked up situation without writing it terribly. 
He already knew what comments he’d get with this: decent fact finding, but could stand to write in a more academic way. This is a research paper, not a casual conversation among friends. Stuff like that. He’d probably get more shit than that, but Louie was pretty familiar with all the red marks and comments he got for his shitty work. “Ugggggggggggggggggghhhhhhhhhh,” Louie whined, throwing his head back and slumping in his chair. How did smart people do this? Louie struggled so hard to get through a paragraph!
Maybe he should try music. Louie hadn’t considered that option yet, but it was definitely one that could potentially get him through his paper. Music had to be it! After all, spotify had all kinds of study playlists and shit, things to help someone get through the work they were trying to do. Maybe Louie would do that. So he went ahead and switched on one of those study playlists and started reading stuff on this Richard dude again. But then the music was so calming, and Louie’s eyelids started drooping. His head started to drop, and then the next thing he knew he was jerking awake and looking at the clock.
“Oh shit! You slept for an hour Louie? Oh goooood why am I such a fucking idiooooot,” he moaned, putting his head in his hands and shaking his head desperately. This was so bad. Louie was so doomed if he didn’t get this paper done by midnight. He had four hours left or something, but he needed every damn second of that time. Writing all of this was so much harder for him than other people. Other people didn’t struggle to keep focused on one thing for as long as Louie did. He was going to fail and end up as a horribly sad janitor and everyone would laugh at him. Louie could see a tragic future.
So he decided he was going to pep up his mood a little. He took a nap? Now it was time to play some lively music and get back into it. Louie turned on Green Day. Louie started bobbing his head enthusiastically, glancing over at his computer to see what he could add about this Richard guy. If he were truly honest, the history was kind of interesting, but Louie still couldn’t keep himself focused enough to get through it more efficiently. He was on to the next little segment for himself, eyebrows furrowing as he debated how to put it.
Richie becm duk of gloucster n a knight of the roun table? or just a knight? something bout a garter. He was placed in a house of the kingmaker guy and grew to be an adult there i guess. ADULTS WERE 16. means im an adult and-
Louie cut himself off. Not important for the purposes of the essay, but he did debate over coming at his uncle with that. Like, ‘listen Uncle Donald, I know there are some dumb rules here, but I’m an adult in the medieval world. I can do what i want!’ Yeah, that probably wouldn’t go over very well, but Louie liked to believe he could have more control over his life. It gave him a satisfying feeling. Or the pretense of satisfaction. Much more satisfying than working on this thrice cursed paper for History. 
He tapped his pen against his chin, tilting his head as he tried to review some more notes and stuff when an absolute bop of a Green Day song came on. “Oh shit, gotta turn that up.” Louie turned up the volume for his speakers and got to his feet, dramatically playing the guitar for the song. It was too good to ignore! “I walk a lonely road the only one that I have ever knowwwwwwwn don’t know where it goes but it’s home to me and I walk alone!” Louie belted it out, not caring about who would here because well, apparently none of his family was around to help him suffer less. He rocked the air guitar, letting his head rock with it and himself pretend he was the amazingly talented Mike Dirnt. He forgot himself for a song before sighing and heading back towards his table and misery. Why did history have to suck so badly?
“Okay Richard, man...couldn’t you help a guy out and write this for me?” Louie suggested with a laugh, shaking his head as he glanced down at what he’d written. He really didn’t have much at all. He was doomed to a life of failure and crime probably. While his brother Huey became Prime Minister or some shit one day, Louie would be nothing. A no good hoodlum or a janitor or a tragically broke musician or something. The longer this went on the more depressing his future looked. He could cry. “Right so so...war of the roses started again right? It stopped chilling out....when.” His eyebrows furrowed, glancing at his paper and the computer with a sigh.
The rose war started up agin in 1469 when Richard and King Edwrds bro n the kingmaker guy Warwick were like ‘f u Edward’ n seized control of Eddie an his gov. Our dude Richie stayed loyal cuz he wasnt a piece of shit bro.
Louie glanced over what he wrote and shrugged. Was it informal? Yes. Did he basically know the history of this dude? Sort of. Mostly. Honestly, at least Louie was making the story more accessible. Maybe this paper could be his Hamilton. He was just offering it to the masses. The masses wanted information that wasn’t horribly bland and basic! Louie was totally delivering on that. In his opinion anyway. He was still probably going to fail this paper. 
But he had made it so far, so Louie let himself keep trying, figuring he still had a few hours leeway to make it sound more “academic” and “boring” rather than his actual writing and thinking style. Why were academic people so lame? Louie sighed, leaning over his paper again to start writing.
Warwick n the dumbass bro reinstated one of the Henrys...3? 4? who the fuck evn knows? 5? Before our man Richie and his bro King Eddie came back n KICKED ASS MAN. Took the throne back after a year lol bitches u tried.
Louie rubbed his eyes tiredly, getting up to go grab himself a snack. He was working hard. He was doing better than usual. Usually by now he’d have given up and just started playing games (or called Mark to do something actually fun). Instead Louie brought himself some crisps, a can of soda, and some chocolate for when it got too depressing to last without sweetness. He could do this! He could do this right? As it got later he started to debate the merit of selling his soul and offering it to Mr. Lyons. Maybe then the dude would go easy on Louie’s best effort. He really had tried.
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itsworn · 6 years
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Backstage Past Part 2: 1955
Pivotal.
A year that opened brightly with unprecedented prosperity, new-car horsepower, and interest in auto racing closed darkly in the wake of James Dean’s fatal highway crash and a rash of on-track tragedies. Newfound concern about vehicle safety would shape the American automotive industry in general, and motorsports in particular, in ways unimaginable before two-time-defending-champ Bill Vukovich died while leading the Indy 500 and a Grand Prix car mowed down more than 80 fans two weeks later in France. Future installments of this series will recall scrutiny by politicians and law enforcement, an industry-wide racing ban, secret factory skunkworks, and other effects felt well into the 1960s.
Magazines published by Trend Inc. had been documenting high performance on black-and-white film since Robert “Pete” Petersen and Bob Lindsay hatched HOT ROD in January 1948, followed soon by Motor Trend. Not until this year, though, did Pete—by now a sole owner—ask photographic director Bob D’Olivo to start retaining and organizing employees’ negatives after developing. The company’s early 1955 acquisitions of competitors Motor Life and Hop Up and absorption of their respective photographers instantly spiked the volume of incoming film. The simple logging-and-filing system D’Olivo implemented on March 27, 1955, grew into the vast photo archive that uniquely enables HOT ROD Deluxe to serve up so many milestone images. Oftentimes, we’re afforded the additional luxury of choosing an outtake to the published shot that some editor with the same choice—but far less time—picked, instead, in the heat of the moment and a deadline.
How telling that the first batch of film ever entered into the photo lab’s handwritten log book, director D’Olivo’s work at an amateur sports-car race, included four action frames of a Porsche Speedster that rated no picture or mention in Motor Trend’s event coverage. It would be another half-century before company archivist Thomas Voehringer came along to wonder, investigate, then confirm that the young driver smacking a hay bale in his competition debut was a little-known actor awaiting release of his first feature films, East of Eden and Rebel Without a Cause. Countless such surprises are sprinkled amongst approximately 3.5 million black-and-white needles in Robert E. Petersen’s photographic haystack. Unknown numbers of worthies will be discovered or rediscovered as our archive research progresses through the 1950s and into the ’60s. Whether by lucky chance or dogged digging, to unearth some previously unpublished image of lasting significance is to strike gold. We’ll be sharing that ore as we shovel it up, one year per episode.
Backstage Past follows the pictorial-heavy format of HRD’s preceding historical series (Golden Age of Drag Racing, 2014-’15; Power Struggles, 2015-’17), with some added value: personal snapshots taken by and of Petersen staffers roaming America with cameras, free film, and virtually unlimited access. Adult beverages might’ve been involved, too. Readers of a certain, ahem, maturity who followed their journeys once before will surely enjoy the shenanigans. You kids will want an app for traveling back in time. Don’t leave home without the magic Trend Inc. business card that seemingly opened every gate and door.
(Photo: Wally Parks)
Everything went Chevrolet’s way this year. The all-new, V8-equipped, hot-selling Chevy was selected to pace the Indianapolis 500, and the superstar nicknamed “Miss Chevrolet” was Indy’s most famous race queen ever. If your house had a TV set or even a radio in the 1950s, there was no escaping Dinah Shore singing, “See the USA/In your Chevrolet ….” Starting in 1951, she sang the so-called “Chevy Jingle” to a loyal audience of millions at both the beginning and end of her Emmy-winning NBC variety show, the first network show hosted by a female. Backed here by the Purdue University Band, she belted out “Back Home in Indiana” before the race, inviting the crowd to sing along to a second chorus, and gamely stuck around to kiss Bob Sweikert in the winner’s circle. (Photo: Ray Brock)
Yup, that thing’s got a Hemi in it: Tony Capanna’s Wilcap Co. swapped a little Red Ram Dodge into the Dean Van Lines Special (left) that finished second in the previous Indy 500 with Jimmy Bryan and an Offy aboard. Bryan and Bob Christie alternately practiced at qualifying speeds before blowing engines in the Hemi car that Motor Trend proclaimed “unmistakably the people’s choice.” The ambitious effort ended up against the wall on the warm-up lap for Christie’s lone qualifying attempt. When the fuel motor exploded, the rear wheels locked up and spun him into the wall. Bryan had slightly better luck in Al Dean’s conventional Kuzma-Offy (right), finishing 24th after dropping out with fuel-system problems. HRM photographer Eric Rickman’s regular “circuit” of L.A. shops gave him the familiarity that enabled such a candid shot of champ-car legends like (from left) engine builder Capanna; Hall of Fame chief mechanic Clint Brawner; sponsor Al Dean, who owned Dean Van Lines; and car builder Eddie Kuzma. Rick’s future road roommate, Tex Smith, wrote in his book that Rick enjoyed back-door access wherever he roamed, working quickly without wasting film. (See Inside Hot Rodding: The Tex Smith Autobiography; June ’55 HRM; Aug. ’55 Motor Trend, HRM, & Motor Life.)
Three rolls that Rickman logged into Petersen’s in-house lab on May 9, 1955, as “Thrifty Drug NHRA Show” mystified archive divers for decades. In our July 2010 issue, founding HRD editor David Freiburger published six pages of parking-lot pictures, including one showing NHRA’s third employee and Drag Safari organizer, Chic Cannon, with an L.A. sheriff’s deputy. Left unexplained were who organized the event, and why, and how a gathering of so many famous hot rods, race cars, sport specials, and especially customs apparently never made HRM or its sister magazines. In 2013, Cannon’s autobiography answered the first two questions: “Since I had some experience organizing car clubs, Wally gave me the position of [NHRA] National Club Advisor. My cousin, Art Crawford, was in marketing … and had Thrifty Drug Stores as a client of his. They were developing new shopping centers all over Southern California, and Art asked me to help promote the grand openings…. So in 1954 and ’55, I organized about a dozen car shows.” As for why at least two were thoroughly photographed on Petersen film but never made print, Chic’s insight leads us to suspect that Rick’s assignment came from NHRA president Wally Parks—not his HRM boss and editor, also named Wally Parks. Possibly the photo lab supplied sets of prints, only, to NHRA and/or Chic’s cousin for promotional purposes, while the negatives were filed, as usual, with the publishing company. Historian Greg Sharp recognized the Barris-built ’51 Mercs of Bob Hirohata and Dave Bugarin alongside Bob Dofflow’s ’50 Ford, all magazine-cover cars. Adds Sharp: “Dave Bugarin was from San Pedro, where I grew up. In the early 1960s, it sat forlornly in primer at a Signal gas station on Western Avenue. I wanted it in the worst way and could have bought it for $300. My dad simply said, ‘You’re not buying that car because I don’t want people to think that hoodlums live here!'” (See Chick Cannon’s Gone Racin’: From Horseback to Horsepower.)
Bill Vukovich, Indy’s two-time-defending champion (1953-’54), was a runaway favorite to three-peat right up to his fatal accident. He held the lead in 50 of the race’s first 56 laps and was cruising at a record average speed of 136-plus, 17 seconds ahead of his closest competitor, before the crash. Vuky led 486 of his last 800 laps at the Brickyard and an incredible 71.7 percent from 1952 to 1955. During time trials, tech editor Ray Brock took advantage of HRM’s pit-row access to capture a relaxed team of Jim Travers (leaning on windscreen), Jim Naim (in T-shirt), and Frank Coon (obscured behind them). Chief mechanics Travers and Coon, previously lakes racers with the Low Flyers of Santa Monica, partnered as the “TRA” and “CO” in TRACO Racing Engines. We can’t identify the onlookers on either end.       
Attempting to avoid a multicar wreck on the backstretch, Vukovich clipped rookie Johnny Boyd, catapulted over the wooden rail, and plowed into a parked truck, Jeep, and safety-patrol car. From all reports, he likely died before the flames erupted—one of six open-wheel AAA driver fatalities this year alone. HRM editor Wally Parks arrived with his camera right after the firemen. The American Automobile Association soon ended its long association with auto racing, creating a vacuum hastily filled by USAC the following year. (See Aug. ’55 Motor Trend, HRM, & Motor Life.)  
Los Angeles engine-builder Tony Capanna brought two baby Hemis to Indy, a nitro version for qualifying and a more-durable methanol combination for race day. Going by the severe destruction, we’d guess this to be the fuel motor that exploded on the warm-up lap leading to Bob Christie’s aborted qualifying attempt. Since Hemis were restricted to the same 270 ci as the powerful, race-bred Offys, Capanna rightly figured that the only replacement for displacement was nitromethane, and lots of it. Whereas an Offy team might add 10-to-15 percent to enhance qualifying chances or position, then run the race on straight methanol, Capanna calculated that his stock-block Dodge wanted 85-percent “pop” to produce comparable power. His autopsy determined that oil starvation, not “liquid horsepower,” was this engine’s downfall. (See June ’55 MT; July ’55 HRM; Aug. ’55 Motor Trend, HRM & Motor Life.)   
It’s been said that Robert E. Petersen eventually launched magazines about all of his hobbies. Two favorites were firearms and fishing, as illustrated by a sequence that Bob D’Olivo captured from a second boat. Lacking any back issues of Water World, we can’t say whether our gunslinging, shark-spearing leader subsequently showed up in print. 
Eric Rickman tripped his shutter just as everyone turned to check out the chopped coupe rumbling into the classic scene. The Drag Safari’s Deer Park, Washington, NHRA regional meet brought Petersen’s imbedded photographer into Spokane and the original Thrifty Auto Supply. Magnifying the background of this scan revealed two bystanders to be Safari leader Bud Coons (right) and announcer Bud Evans.
Not many hot rodders have influenced the hobby as much as the late Norm Grabowski, whose revolutionary roadster pickup costarred in the hit TV series 77 Sunset Strip and, together with Tommy Ivo’s much-publicized imitation, ignited the T-bucket craze. This B&W outtake from HRM’s Oct. ’55 cover story shows the reversed ’40 Ford spring hangers that pushed the ’37 Ford axle forward to clear the radiator. Norm also stretched the frame 5 inches in front to accommodate an Olds V8 boosted by a GMC supercharger, a rare sight on daily drivers of the era.
Besides being a brilliant engineer and technical writer, the late Racer Brown possessed a photographer’s eye. The relatively few rolls cranked through his futuristic 35mm Leica after D’Olivo started the archive contain clever compositions like this illusion of two guys working inside the engine compartment vacated by a severely set-back engine. Racer exposed three rolls on this July day at Paradise Mesa Drag Strip, near San Diego, but we’ve seen no magazine coverage.    
So, your kids and grandkids think that selfies were invented after the phone camera, huh? Rather than leave his last couple of frames blank, freelance contributor Ray Brock finished off a roll labeled “Installing Duals on a Chevrolet” with two mug shots sure to entertain the lab technicians back home. Photographers were known to prank one another by discreetly grabbing the other guy’s camera and capturing entertaining, if not downright embarrassing, subjects that only came to light during developing. Sometimes, mischievous lab workers secretly make prints that circulated through Trend Inc.’s internal mail system before the camera’s owner ever saw an image attributed to him. (The late Brock became HRM’s invaluable Detroit connection, officially joined the staff in late 1956 as research editor, and ultimately rose to the top of the masthead as publisher, twice.)
One of the rolls that Rick submitted from the Drag Safari’s stop in Elizabeth City, N.J., included the earliest image we’ve seen of the new or near-new ’55 Corvette that would become as familiar to HRM readers as any rod, custom, or race car. Sixty-three years later fellow travelers Bob D’Olivo and Chic Cannon both drew blanks about the purchase circumstances. So did Rick’s son, then living in Texas with his mother and sister. “Unfortunately, he never related the story of how or where he found it to me,” e-mailed Michael Rickman. “He looks so happy.”   
Would you believe a Cadillac with two billet Engle cams rotating inside aluminum castings bolted onto stock heads? When Ray Brock visited Tom Cobbs in July, the homemade combination was said to be fresh from spinning 6,000-plus rpm on Hilborn’s dyno. The crafty lakes racer proclaimed this to be the primary engine for his (ex-Pierson brothers’) fuel coupe at the upcoming Bonneville Nationals, backed up by a couple of proven Merc flatheads. However, we’ve found no published evidence that the OHC conversion ran there, or anywhere. (See Sept. ’55 HRM)
Either the OHC Caddy was merely a sophisticated diversion (unlikely) or Stu Hilborn changed Cobbs’ mind just before Bonneville by offering the Chevy V8 that Hilborn had been secretly developing for land-speed racing since receiving one of the earliest assemblies in 1954. Since touted as the first small-block modified specifically for record setting, the blown 265’s debut was spoiled by insufficient spark from three different magnetos. Racer Brown reported that high cylinder pressures produced by the 15-psi huffer overwhelmed the ignition above 4,500 rpm. Cobbs would hang onto the whole, historical setup for the rest of his life. His family sold the complete engine to collector Ralph Whitworth, who displayed it for several years in the office of his stillborn museum in Winnemucca, Nevada. Its whereabouts since Whitworth’s 2016 death are unknown. (See Nov. ’55 HRM; Dec. ’55 CC.)
Carl Kiekhaefer’s Hemi-powered heavyweights dominated both major stock-car circuits this year. While teammate Frank Mundy (not shown) was winning the AAA crown, NASCAR champ Tim Flock (right) was racking up a record 18 Grand National wins and 15 placings in 45 events, leading fully 40 percent of his laps. He and big-brother Truman Fontello Flock (left) are pictured in Darlington’s pits prior to the Southern 500 (Nov. ’55 MT). “Fonty” had taken the Grand National title in 1947, the final season of Bill France’s National Championship Stock Car Circuit. Their older brother, Bob, had a brief-but-spectacular career (36 starts, four wins, 11 top fives, 18 top 10s) that was ended by a broken back. All three siblings are NASCAR Hall of Famers. A sister, Ethel, also made history by running more than 100 Modified events, including two NASCAR shows. In a July 1949 race on Daytona’s beach course featuring all four siblings, she finished 11th in a ’49 Cadillac, ahead of both Bob and Fonty (Tim was second). All told, the family started 379 NASCAR races and earned 230 top-10 finishes.
Whoever aimed Rickman’s camera at Petersen’s crew certainly caught Bob D’Olivo (left) and Wally Parks (center) by surprise, while Rick himself (second from the left) looks bemused. Car Craft editor and future PPC executive Dick Day is on the far right. Wally evidently gathered the all-star editorial team to present HRM’s huge Sportsmanship Award to Don Schleicher for doing an unknown good deed during the Kansas portion of NHRA’s rain-interrupted National Drags. 
The little kid dressed up like an airman and pretending to accept the NHRA Nationals Top Eliminator trophy is none other than LeRoi “Tex” Smith, USAF fighter pilot. Subsequent civilian careers with HRM and NHRA started with flying into bases near Drag Safari meets and assisting track setup and tech inspection. An appreciative Safari team affectionately dubbed the volunteer “Boy Lieutenant” and “Lieutenant Fuzz.” After separating from the service, he was recruited for HRM by editor Parks in 1957. He remained at the forefront of hot rodding and automotive publishing right up to his death in 2015, the same year that his long-awaited life story appeared (Inside Hot Rodding: The Tex Smith Autobiography).
Drag racing’s first national showdown and NHRA’s first four-day event was less the overnight success that the Trend Inc. monthlies would have readers believe than an “overnightmare” in Kansas. Drag News reported that the bumpy tarmac of Great Bend Municipal Airport caused so many drivetrain failures during the September 29-30 time trials that NHRA officials spent Friday night supervising a partial repaving. Overnight Saturday and throughout Sunday, the meet was drowned by what HRM called the area’s “worst rainstorm in 30 years.” Faced with an extended forecast for more of the same, and with only the Dragster class winner and overall Top Eliminator yet to be determined amongst all-Western cars, Wally Parks made the controversial call to postpone the meet’s conclusion to November 19-20—in Arizona, 1,000 miles away (thus the two-part event coverage in the Dec. ’55 and Feb. ’56 HRM).
If the facade seems familiar, yet you never saw this massive Los Angeles building, close copies of its tailfin-inspired towers greet visitors to Disney parks in both Florida and California. Inside the Pan-Pacific Auditorium, this Olds-powered custom won the Street Roadster class at Bob Petersen’s 1955 Motorama. Greg Sharp advised that owner-builder Hanky Rootlieb became a pioneer manufacturer of reproduction sheetmetal for early Fords. The company still operates in California. Not so the Pan-Pacific, whose 100,000 square feet made it the world’s largest inhabited wooden structure. The building was L.A.’s main venue for indoor events from 1935 until 1972, when it was displaced by a bigger convention center and abandoned by all but squatters. For the next 17 years, the property’s fate was debated by politicians, developers, and preservationists. Nothing got resolved until May 1989, when a fire blamed on a transient consumed the 54-year-old building. The site ultimately became Pan-Pacific Park, instantly identifiable by a scaled-down tailfin tower atop its recreation center. (See Aug. ’56 HRM.)      
If this outtake seems familiar, it���s because the frame is similar to others on possibly the most-reproduced, most-ripped-off roll of images in an archive bursting with approximately 8.5 million individual negatives and transparencies. Adding insult to personal injury, Bob D’Olivo’s portraits of Kenneth Howard, aka Von Dutch—with and without a flute—in this goofy setting are too often either uncredited or miscredited to D’Olivo’s internal, eternal arch-rival, Eric Rickman.  
Rickman got Von Dutch to strike a variety of poses in front of L.A.’s Competition Body Shop, wherein the cantankerous artist had set up shop. Humorous images from Rick and his boss, photographic director Bob D’Olivo, were combined in the Feb. ’56 CC, a package that began with editor Dick Day’s humorous column about assigning the accompanying interview to unsuspecting writer Jack Baldwin, who’d never heard of Von Dutch—and never got a straight answer to his prepared questions. 
The late Racer Brown never left home without his Cross ballpoint pen and a slide rule, recalled D’Olivo, his colleague, close pal, and soon-to-be racing partner in Corvette’s first national-championship season (see July ’16 HRM). Few folks outside of the company suspected that HRM’s longtime tech editor belonged to an extremely wealthy family and never needed to work. After leaving the publishing business, he found more success as a racing camgrinder. 
New-car road tests don’t always end happily. Incriminating evidence occasionally turns up in the archive (though never in back issues). HRM’s Brock raced fast American iron on the sand in Florida, on the salt flats, and on dragstrips without crashing, but he met his match in this 11.7ci (191cc), 9.9hp Messerschmitt. The German wartime aircraft manufacturer’s tricky, airplane-style steering bar swiveled side to side to turn the 4.00-8 front tires. These tandem-passenger three-wheelers weighed just 507 pounds and became fairly common in Competition Coupe/Sedan classes, whose liberal rules allowed any production body, imports included. 
The post Backstage Past Part 2: 1955 appeared first on Hot Rod Network.
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repwinpril9y0a1 · 7 years
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First Nighter: Tanya Saracho's "Fade," Geoff Sobelle's "The Object Lesson," Robert Holman's "Jonah and Otto"
Two Mexicans walk into a Hollywood movie studio office. No, this isn't the beginning of a hot new joke, even though there's an early Donald J. Trump laugh line. It's the start of Tanya Saracho's Fade, at the Cherry Lane, that, for one thing, takes up within-nationality biases Lucia (Annie Dow), who's written one novel and is blocked on a second, has accepted a writing-team job on a television series. She's moved into her second-tier but still comfortable office where Abel (Eddie Martinez), pronounced Ah-bell, is the handy cleaning man. (Mariana Sanchez is the set designer.) Just about right off the bat, Lucia assumes--correctly--that Eddie is Mexican and, because she is, too, begins addressing him in Spanish. Although he speaks English, he doesn't respond at first. Shortly, however, he points out to her--in English--that her assumption exposes a class distinction she's made about who would be likely to learn a second language and who wouldn't. So their earlier exchanges revolve around Abel wising Lucia up to herself as she grouses about the barely disguised biased treatment she's receiving from her states-born male writing colleagues. In time, Lucia eases up and, as Abel visits her space to empty her wastebasket and show how to open her window, the two become friendlier and even bond with each other against the writing-team's unconscious racist remarks. They're in accord to the extent that Eddie not only opens up to Lucia about his troubles at home but also begins discussing her writing assignments. It's here where Saracho's play--so smart about prejudice often seemingly rampant--goes somewhat off the tracks. Lucia gets Abel relaxed enough to confide something drastic about himself and family. Doing that, Saracho arms the audience with a hearty nudge as to where she's going with her script and makes a playwright's major mistake. She lets the audience get ahead of her. The problem becomes that rather than having patrons follow the Lucia-Abel development, they're drumming their fingers in regard to how long it's going to take for the inevitable to take place. Though that goes some way to vitiate Fade, it doesn't undermine the play completely. Her observations about the complexities of intolerance are astute. The Lucia-Abel relationship and how it grows is amusing as well as enlightening to observe. The playwright is valuably abetted by director Jerry Ruiz, who began his work in an earlier Denver Center Theatre Company production. Dow's never-ending jitters are great fun to watch. Worth watching closely is Martinez's display of sly understanding. He also exhibits a confident workingman's stride, which he probably honed in Denver. ****************** At the New York Theatre Workshop they're happy to reconfigure the commodious space for whatever is lodging there temporarily. With The Object Lesson, they've gone whole hog. When patrons enter past an opaque plastic curtain they've already passed a wall of stacked boxes. Once in, they're encouraged to wander through the hundreds(?) of additional boxes. Some are stacked. Some are not, but are open and contain what look like society's detritus. Some are designated as seats. (Steven Dufala is credited with the scenic installation design.) After the crowd has spent time milling about and then sitting, a willowy fellow named Geoff Sobelle (not that he gives a character's name) starts talking, initially discussing objects he picks out near the chair he's occupied for a few minutes. He rambles on for a while and then makes a call (or was he called?; I don't remember) and begins talking to himself--to his just recorded opening ramble. Sobelle, ostensibly known for award-winning installations, continues spinning sentences that are notable for adding up to nothing much. In response, the audience occasionally laughs. Otherwise, the attendees are polite throughout. For a bit of relief from the attenuated tedium, Sobelle, climbs on a table and, with the ice skates he's wearing, does a dance in which he cuts up lettuce, carrots and a red pepper, thereby producing a salad for a woman, who's said she's Kyoko. The sequence is mildly amusing and constitutes the 90-minute diversion's high point. (David Parker/The Bang Group is credited with the choreography. David Neumann is credited as director, although the extent of his contributions is elusive.) For the final 10 or 15 minutes of a piece originally commissioned by Lincoln Center Theater, Sobelle stands at one end of the room pulling seemingly endless objects from a medium-sized box. Eventually, he runs out of junk, making his perhaps major point that in time civilization comes down to nothing. Early on, Sobelle dubs the undertaking a "bulls**t enterprise." Let's give him that final word on one of the most impoverished theater pieces by which this reviewer has ever been assaulted. ****************** In Robert Holman's Jonah and Otto, twentysomething-thirtysomething Jonah (Rupert Simonian) and sixty-ish Otto (Sean Gormley) don't meet cute on this side of a crumbling stone wall that could, despite the absence of gravestones, be a cemetery. (Ann Beyersdorfer is responsible for the haunted-looking set.) They encounter when Jonah slinks through a wooden door pushing a laden cart. He arrives to menace Otto, who's been rubbing against the wall, ostensibly to extract the heat soaked up during the day. Otto calls Jonah a hoodlum. Jonah claims he isn't. Throughout the ensuing conversation, which stretches into a series of conversations, Jonah and Otto alternately rag each other or declare their concern for one another. Slowly, it becomes obvious that, despite their differently troubled lives, they're forging a friendship. One of the reasons is the sleeping infant daughter whom Jonah takes care of in his cart. Trying to make precise sense of what's transpiring moment to moment may not be worth a ticket buyer's time. The script doesn't bear the weight of too much analysis--certainly not the sequence in which while Otto is apparently sleeping, Jonah strips him of his outer clothes. This piece may be a small lapse in playwright Holman's career. Little known stateside, if known at all, he does include among his works an exquisite one-act produced in 1986 about the also all but unknown writer Denton Welch. It's called Being Friends, and also there's A Thousand Stars Explode in the Sky, co-authored with David Eldridge and Simon Stephens. Would that those two plays would be presented here. The pressing reason to see Jonah and Otto is to watch what Simonian and Gormley do with their meaty roles, as directed by Geraldine Hughes. Swizzlestick-thin Otto switches with speed from scared clergyman (at least a clergyman is what Otto claims to be) to overbearing aggressor. Chunky Simonian--who gets to throw a terrifyingly convincing epileptic fit--slowly instills irresistible humanity into the openly emotional Jonah. Although Holman's play adds up to less than the sum of its parts, the acting amounts to a good deal more.
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