I had been sitting in bumper-to-bumper traffic on I-80 with a carload of belligerent teenage girls, wondering what kind of masochistic urge could have induced me to embark on a trip to New York with them in tow. The day had been miserable from the get-go and we cut it short. Now, on the return journey, there had been a massive pile-up and we must have come right up behind it. We had only moved about ten feet in the past 20 minutes, prompting me to turn off the A/C.
The rising temperature inside the car was directly proportionate to the level of discontent among my passengers. I was tired of playing DJ for this group of sassy sixteen-year-olds, who had not been able to agree on anything since we passed Parsippany. I turned off the radio and told them to put on their headphones. That’s when they began arguing about who could use the car charger since all five of them had depleted the batteries on the dozen or so devices they brought along. I snickered to myself when I realized that the much-coveted accessory was in my other daughter’s car back in PA. Since the inconsiderate use of electronics had led us to leave the City early and therefore placed us into this predicament, I had no sympathy for the now “disconnected” divas. Anticipating an onslaught of complaints, I began to consider my options, which were extremely limited.
Taking a cue from Oscar Wilde, I thought of a way to ensure at least one of us inside the vehicle would be happy...
Declaring democracy dead within the confines of my car, I appointed myself Supreme Sovereign and invoked royal privilege. My subjects were not amused and immediately began planning a coup d'etat. United against a common enemy they forgot the lack of amenities for the moment and focused their energy on usurping my regime.
In order to demonstrate that I was truly in charge, I loaded my GODSPELL soundtrack into the CD player, settled back into my seat and prepared to defend my musical selection.
Major whinage ensued.
For the first time since leaving the City, my passengers were almost unanimously in agreement. My daughter, Melanie, was the lone holdout. Not that she would ever side with a parental unit in the presence of her friends. Her motive to remain impartial was purely one of self -preservation. She was terrified I might pull a major "mom move" and mortify her by revealing the fact that she had been listening to the same GODSPELL soundtrack on her iPad, practically non-stop, for over a week.
Since becoming attached to this particular clique, Melanie felt obliged to downplay her activities relating to performing arts, in fact, anything remotely associated with "culture". Knowing how outspoken and judgmental this crew could be, I was certain she hadn't told them that I had introduced her to the newest production of GODSPELL the previous weekend she was hopelessly devoted ever since. In fact, she downloaded the cast album from iTunes before the garage door closed when we returned home after the theater. I had been thrilled to discover that she was bursting with the same enthusiasm I 'd felt after seeing the original production on Broadway back in high school. Both of my daughters shared my musical theater obsession but neither had been able to find a group of friends to share our passion for the arts. In fact, the original plan for the day was to take the girls to see GODSPELL, but Melanie bemoaned the fact that none of her friends would "get it". I argued that nobody could be immune to the GODSPELL "spell".
The current situation would test that theory.
I empathized with her discomfort but made no move to remedy the situation since I was certain that the music would soon win over the most fervent objectors.
The opening number, "Tower of Babble", was almost indistinguishable from the myriad of pleas, threats and rabid rantings that were launched against the new regime. I was assured that the revolution was imminent. I remained impervious to the rising tension because, as the soundtrack became the score of our drama, my spirit was bolstered. I knew that the sheer joy that infused this particular cast recording had the power to dissipate whatever negative energy was being generated and was confident that even the most shallow or jaded listener would soon be won over.
At first, Melanie behaved as if she was appalled by my uncool behavior but I knew it was an act. After all, she was the one who put the CD in the car and we had been embellishing our rendition of "All For the Best" with beat-box and "STOMP" effects on the ride over to pick up her surly companions. From the moment they appeared on the scene, I was relegated to the role of silent chauffeur, DJ, and general dogsbody - until my recent declaration of supreme dominion.
Knowing how much she enjoyed singing along, it was a testament to the influence these mini she-devils held, that she was able to hold out till the third track. However, once Mel let go of her resolve, she was totally committed and in full harmony by the time her compatriots fell into a stunned silence. That momentary pause in their tirade was all that was necessary for the music to seep in. Then, one-by-one, they each succumbed to the urge to join in.
The atmosphere inside the car completely altered as the tension dissipated. Within moments, the girls were begging me to crank up the volume. With our sound-system set to sonic, we forgot the sorry situation we had been trapped in. I had been hoping to secure a truce until the traffic cleared up. What occurred instead was an unconditional surrender. Caught up in the spirit of the music, the rebellion was irrelevant.
Since none of the other girls confessed to having seen GODSPELL (play or movie) these "newbies" must have absorbed the lyrics through osmosis. While anyone could have picked up "Day by Day" by the second chorus, I began to sense divine intervention when I heard a five-part harmony during "All Good Gifts"!
The occupants of the surrounding vehicles were staring in bewilderment at what must have appeared to be a carload of lunatics, staging a full-blown flashmob in the middle of the highway. Once their facade was dropped, my carload of previously self-conscious teenagers became oblivious to the attention they were attracting. Caught up in the moment, they were now "beseeching" the other stranded motorists to join in the revelry. Somehow, the lack of air conditioning and wi-fi no longer seemed life-threatening. The only concern anyone expressed was for the other stranded motorists who did not have the benefit of this musical distraction to brighten their day. The sentiment may have seemed a bit convoluted but the fact that these formerly shallow, self-absorbed prima donnas were exhibiting any sort of empathy for the plight of someone else was remarkable!
Unintentionally, our little impromptu concert was being shared with the surrounding vehicles. When the traffic began to flow once again, I noticed two cars trying to keep pace. My daughter pointed out that the occupants of these vehicles were singing along with us. We had a GODSPELL convoy!
As we resumed normal speed and approached our destination, none of my passengers complained about the fact that the windows remained open and the air conditioning off.
We lost our "disciples" somewhere around the DWG exit. It's a safe bet they didn't complain about the traffic jam when they got home. I'm pretty sure they would be making the GODSPELL soundtrack part of their future travel repertoire.
The rising temperature inside the car was directly proportionate to the level of discontent among my passengers. I was tired of playing DJ for this group of sassy sixteen-year-olds, who had not been able to agree on anything since we passed Parsippany. I turned off the radio and told them to put on their headphones. That’s when they began arguing about who could use the car charger since all five of them had depleted the batteries on the dozen or so devices they brought along. I snickered to myself when I realized that the much-coveted accessory was in my other daughter’s car back in PA. Since the inconsiderate use of electronics had led us to leave the City early and therefore placed us into this predicament, I had no sympathy for the now “disconnected” divas. Anticipating an onslaught of complaints, I began to consider my options, which were extremely limited.
Taking a cue from Oscar Wilde, I thought of a way to ensure at least one of us inside the vehicle would be happy...
Declaring democracy dead within the confines of my car, I appointed myself Supreme Sovereign and invoked royal privilege. My subjects were not amused and immediately began planning a coup d'etat. United against a common enemy they forgot the lack of amenities for the moment and focused their energy on usurping my regime.
In order to demonstrate that I was truly in charge, I loaded my GODSPELL soundtrack into the CD player, settled back into my seat and prepared to defend my musical selection.
Major whinage ensued.
For the first time since leaving the City, my passengers were almost unanimously in agreement. My daughter, Melanie, was the lone holdout. Not that she would ever side with a parental unit in the presence of her friends. Her motive to remain impartial was purely one of self -preservation. She was terrified I might pull a major "mom move" and mortify her by revealing the fact that she had been listening to the same GODSPELL soundtrack on her iPad, practically non-stop, for over a week.
Since becoming attached to this particular clique, Melanie felt obliged to downplay her activities relating to performing arts, in fact, anything remotely associated with "culture". Knowing how outspoken and judgmental this crew could be, I was certain she hadn't told them that I had introduced her to the newest production of GODSPELL the previous weekend she was hopelessly devoted ever since. In fact, she downloaded the cast album from iTunes before the garage door closed when we returned home after the theater. I had been thrilled to discover that she was bursting with the same enthusiasm I 'd felt after seeing the original production on Broadway back in high school. Both of my daughters shared my musical theater obsession but neither had been able to find a group of friends to share our passion for the arts. In fact, the original plan for the day was to take the girls to see GODSPELL, but Melanie bemoaned the fact that none of her friends would "get it". I argued that nobody could be immune to the GODSPELL "spell".
The current situation would test that theory.
I empathized with her discomfort but made no move to remedy the situation since I was certain that the music would soon win over the most fervent objectors.
The opening number, "Tower of Babble", was almost indistinguishable from the myriad of pleas, threats and rabid rantings that were launched against the new regime. I was assured that the revolution was imminent. I remained impervious to the rising tension because, as the soundtrack became the score of our drama, my spirit was bolstered. I knew that the sheer joy that infused this particular cast recording had the power to dissipate whatever negative energy was being generated and was confident that even the most shallow or jaded listener would soon be won over.
At first, Melanie behaved as if she was appalled by my uncool behavior but I knew it was an act. After all, she was the one who put the CD in the car and we had been embellishing our rendition of "All For the Best" with beat-box and "STOMP" effects on the ride over to pick up her surly companions. From the moment they appeared on the scene, I was relegated to the role of silent chauffeur, DJ, and general dogsbody - until my recent declaration of supreme dominion.
Knowing how much she enjoyed singing along, it was a testament to the influence these mini she-devils held, that she was able to hold out till the third track. However, once Mel let go of her resolve, she was totally committed and in full harmony by the time her compatriots fell into a stunned silence. That momentary pause in their tirade was all that was necessary for the music to seep in. Then, one-by-one, they each succumbed to the urge to join in.
The atmosphere inside the car completely altered as the tension dissipated. Within moments, the girls were begging me to crank up the volume. With our sound-system set to sonic, we forgot the sorry situation we had been trapped in. I had been hoping to secure a truce until the traffic cleared up. What occurred instead was an unconditional surrender. Caught up in the spirit of the music, the rebellion was irrelevant.
Since none of the other girls confessed to having seen GODSPELL (play or movie) these "newbies" must have absorbed the lyrics through osmosis. While anyone could have picked up "Day by Day" by the second chorus, I began to sense divine intervention when I heard a five-part harmony during "All Good Gifts"!
The occupants of the surrounding vehicles were staring in bewilderment at what must have appeared to be a carload of lunatics, staging a full-blown flashmob in the middle of the highway. Once their facade was dropped, my carload of previously self-conscious teenagers became oblivious to the attention they were attracting. Caught up in the moment, they were now "beseeching" the other stranded motorists to join in the revelry. Somehow, the lack of air conditioning and wi-fi no longer seemed life-threatening. The only concern anyone expressed was for the other stranded motorists who did not have the benefit of this musical distraction to brighten their day. The sentiment may have seemed a bit convoluted but the fact that these formerly shallow, self-absorbed prima donnas were exhibiting any sort of empathy for the plight of someone else was remarkable!
Unintentionally, our little impromptu concert was being shared with the surrounding vehicles. When the traffic began to flow once again, I noticed two cars trying to keep pace. My daughter pointed out that the occupants of these vehicles were singing along with us. We had a GODSPELL convoy!
As we resumed normal speed and approached our destination, none of my passengers complained about the fact that the windows remained open and the air conditioning off.
We lost our "disciples" somewhere around the DWG exit. It's a safe bet they didn't complain about the traffic jam when they got home. I'm pretty sure they would be making the GODSPELL soundtrack part of their future travel repertoire.
"We Beseech Thee" was playing once more as we reached our exit. Hearing it for the second time, the girls displayed newfound confidence in the lyrics. With no followers left to inspire, my traveling minstrels were belting to the heavens. I'm sure we appeared to be a born-again, evangelical/fundamentalist gospel choir heading to a revival meeting*.
It dawned on me, observing the now remarkably quiet and deserted road, that we must look extremely incongruous - and vulnerable. At that moment I notice an enormous red pick-up, decked out with all the trappings of a highway horror movie, including a menacing-looking driver, straight from central casting. It appeared to have followed us off the ramp. Right on cue, the scary guy behind the wheel began signaling frantically for us to pull over. I had no intention of complying. Concerned that we might be facing a problem, I turned the music off and closed the windows, much to the chagrin of the newly formed girl-group that replaced the unruly mob I started the adventure with. Not wanting to create panic but feeling the need to prevent further protest, I pointed out the truck that was now alongside us and explained that we probably had a flat (we obviously didn't) or something dripping underneath the car, and this "Good Samaritan" was offering to help.
No one was buying that story. They quickly developed their own theories.
The general consensus among the girls pegged the driver, who now seemed intent on running us off the road, as a religious fanatic who probably was offended by our overzealous performance. He might have been seizing an opportunity to preach his fire and brimstone to a captive carload of women.
A sinister decal on the side door, that appeared to depict a scene of vile carnage**, and the prominent gun-rack in the cabin of the truck made the paranoid New Yorker in me assess him as more of a "48 Hours of Dateline on 20/20 ID" serial killer who possibly stalked middle-aged women exhibiting really bad driving skills, traveling with carload of perky, under-age cheerleader types.
Whatever freak-flag this lunatic was flying, it became clear he was not giving up. It looked like he might follow us home. Each of my passengers lived in remote locations that conveniently could be reached only by remote side roads. The nearest business that might still be open would also require a trip through an area that would seem like Valhalla for anyone seeking to conduct his or her business in private and bury the evidence.
Reluctantly, I pulled over. Within seconds the scary, “have-gun-will-travel" serial-fanatic, materializes outside my window.
Armed with a dangerously hot can of Diet Coke, I cracked the window, ready to "de-mythify" an urban legend. Meanwhile, the girls began fighting over what they would have told the 911 operator if only they had enough battery and "bars" to call for help. At least they were willing to admit it had been a mistake to "tweet" so many complaints outlining my earlier power trip and create a Facebook page to support the revolution they had intended to launch. It also hadn't been wise to look up pictures of the "hot" guys in the cast of GODSPELL while all of the devices in our possession were so dangerously low on batteries. But it was a little late for regrets...
Grinning like a hyena, our stalker announced his intent:
"That was GODSPELL, right? Turn it back on. Holy s*&%! I love that show! Believe it or not, I played "Jesus" in high school!"
He was right - we NEVER would have guessed - but he had good taste so he couldn't be all bad, right? As far as I knew, there had never been a case of a rabid theater enthusiast going postal, nor could I recall any incidents of mass-murder tied to the theater world.
Obeying his request, I turned the CD back on.
"Where'dyaget it? It's freakin' phenomenal! Never thought they could improve on a classic." Hoping to get him to the point of this encounter, I succinctly brought him up to speed about the fate of this latest production.
"Unfreakin'believable! I've been tellin' my kids about this play for years and watching for a high school production ('cause that movie sucked) so they could see for themselves. I've been playin' the original soundtrack since the cradle. How the hell did I not know it was happening? We try to hit Broadway at least twice a year." He seems to be getting worked up - maybe my initial assessment was accurate. "My daughter's gonna have my balls for breakfast if she finds out some of these kids were on Glee and in High School Musical" Those details had been provided by Melanie, who seemed to recognize someone from her own tribe.
Long story short, "scary truck guy" was named Sebastian - 'El Bastardo' to his friends. He turned out to be just another frustrated theater major forced to abandon his dream of being the next Jerry Orbach (*x3) to pursue a paycheck. We let him recount his glory days on the stage, from his debut as baby Jesus in a Nativity play presented by his former parish in the Brooklyn (He was typecast at an early age) to his subsequent departure from the boards, due to the lack of vision shown by his professors at De Sales University (when they recommended that he rethink his major.) He confided that it took years to gain perspective and understand that he had not been cast in the lead for all of his high school productions based on talent, the truth was his voice carried to the rafters and they had a sub-standard sound system. In high school, the audience is comprised of family and friends a.k.a. built-in fans. Regardless of how cheesy, flat or uninspired the performance may have been, if they could hear it in the balcony you would get your standing ovation. Gaining the insight that comes with age, he eventually accepted that he hadn't been cheated out of a career on the stage. He chose a different path and became a successful businessman. His big regret was that he had not been able to surround himself with fellow theatre enthusiasts or spend his life immersed in musical scores.
It was getting really late. At this point, I would have promised to have him& his family over for a barbecue/impromptu GODSPELL cabaret if he'd let us leave. I was convinced that he was virtually harmless, however, once the music stopped, my passengers sussed that the air-conditioner wasn't on and we weren't moving. If you have ever been trapped in a car with teenagers who are hot, tired, hungry and "disconnected" for well over an hour you would understand why I was beginning to regret that this guy was not a crazed lunatic. Had he lived up to my worst fears I probably would have been put out of my misery by now? Instead, he was leaning on the window, blocking any chance I might have had for a clean getaway. I hoped he would recognize the inhuman tableau that was unfolding inside my vehicle and feel some sympathy for my plight, especially since he mentioned having daughters about the same age as my passengers.
Regrettably, Sebastian did have experience and therefore had become immune to the many instruments of torture teenage girls kept in their arsenals. Worse still, because he had been hard-pressed to find fellow "THEATRE" enthusiasts among the members of his Rod and Gun Club or the guys who worked for his sewage/septic inspection company (see **), he was not about to let this captive audience go. He had enjoyed the pleasure that comes from belonging to a community of kindred spirits while at college and had spent the intervening years trying to repopulate his life with like-minded individuals – unsuccessfully. Tonight, the demon that lay dormant within his soul was unleashed. Not a psycho-sexual deviant kind of demon, just an opinionated theater buff desperate to share his views, such as how "phenomenal" he thought "Smash" could have been if they just cut all the storyline that didn't build up to a musical number. He also tried to engage us in something he called the "Weber vs. Wildhorn" debate. Settling into the window, with no signs of budging, Sebastian expressed his bewilderment at the fact that there has never been a film version of a musical that could give him goosebumps the way live theater does. We nodded in agreement. In El Bastardo's opinion, “It’s criminal to haftapay two hundred friggin' dollars to have your cojones squeezed into your gut for a chance to see some Hollywood bimbo chewing the scenery while thousands of truly talented actors are waiting tables at the joint next door!" I agreed in theory, though having no “cojones” I couldn’t claim the same discomfort. I prayed that he had run out of steam and would get back in his truck drive away.
Sadly, there was more. Sooooo much more.
As an encore, he began to list every play he had ever seen, wanted to see or had taken his family to. I asked if he couldn’t share this meaningful dialogue with his loved ones? Apparently, though happy to participate in anything that brought them into the City, none of them shared his interest in anything more than a night out in NYC.
The girls had reached Def-Con5 and I was ready to re-enact Javerts suicide scene right there into the Delaware River. Oblivious to my anguish he took off on yet another tangent. He wanted to sing a quick number from "Grease" to get my "expert opinion". Evidently, the mere possession of a cast album coupled with a rudimentary knowledge of modern theater and performing arts qualified me as an authority. It appears that the rest of the population of Northeast PA who fit that profile had enough sense to keep it hidden when they encountered this guy. I became worried we'd end up staging "Summer Lovin'" as a roadside attraction. Though the spectacle may have attracted some assistance, the way my luck was going, it would have garnered an audience instead.
The newly resurrected harpies decided to let up a bit on the torment in order to reevaluate the situation. Realizing that this once menacing man was just another adult rambling on about "olden times", and that he wasn't hitting on me - or showing the slightest interest in them, they re-launched their terror campaign in earnest. They threatened to walk home. I pointed out they had no cell service and the GPS was not portable. They threatened to commandeer the vehicle. I waited for one of them to figure out WHY we weren't moving. They threatened to sing - I could deal with that. They threatened to give my new pal my real cell, work, and home phone number - I could screen my calls. Then my daughter provided what could have been the deathblow:
"You guys should get together some time and finish this conversation! My mom hangs out in the City with a bunch of her friends that work in theater in this place nobody knows about..."
Fearing she was about to do irrevocable damage, I cut her off.
"It's called McCann's." First dive bar that sprang to mind.
OK. I know this was a mean trick but when the last refuge of my city life was being threatened, drastic measures had to be taken.
Fortunately, there was no sign of recognition on his part.
I threw my daughter a look that said, "He may not be a psycho but I'm about to become one." She got the message. The rest of the Greek Chorus became mute.
Even though he hadn't caught the look I threw or the silent agreement that had taken place right in front of his eyes, the sudden quiet from my tormentors seemed to tip him off that something wasn't quite right. Sensing the GODSPELL magic was wearing off and he was about to lose this much-desired forum for his pent-up ideas and critiques, he attempted to solidify our bond by "making plans”.
“Why don't I take youseall to the City. With my family, of course. I'm not hittin' on ya or nothin'." I assured him that never crossed our minds but meeting up this week would be impossible. He shifted back to my "special" hangout.
"Let me know when your gonna be there, I can get into the city whenever I want. I'd love to meet your friends, talk theater, the whole nine yards. Whadaya call that place again?" I knew he wasn't leaving without a commitment so...
You understand why I had to do this?
"McCann's. You should sooooo stop by. Don't let the smell of urine or the guys passed out in the front fool you, the real action takes place in the back room."
I know what you are thinking - I had traveled over to the dark side along with my passengers.
Poor guy, hope he never plans on stopping by, it would be a really rude awakening. (I sincerely hope there is no backroom!)
At this point, I really didn't care. I had been more than cordial to a stranger. I had been far more patient with the harpies than they deserved - they were lucky I was honor-bound to return to their parents in semi-working order. Up until now, I had managed to diffuse all of their threats. However, between their unrelenting efforts to destroy my otherwise unflappable facade and the puppy-like enthusiasm of our captor (who was now offering to take everybody out for dinner so we could continue this conversation), I was at my breaking point.
It dawned on me, observing the now remarkably quiet and deserted road, that we must look extremely incongruous - and vulnerable. At that moment I notice an enormous red pick-up, decked out with all the trappings of a highway horror movie, including a menacing-looking driver, straight from central casting. It appeared to have followed us off the ramp. Right on cue, the scary guy behind the wheel began signaling frantically for us to pull over. I had no intention of complying. Concerned that we might be facing a problem, I turned the music off and closed the windows, much to the chagrin of the newly formed girl-group that replaced the unruly mob I started the adventure with. Not wanting to create panic but feeling the need to prevent further protest, I pointed out the truck that was now alongside us and explained that we probably had a flat (we obviously didn't) or something dripping underneath the car, and this "Good Samaritan" was offering to help.
No one was buying that story. They quickly developed their own theories.
The general consensus among the girls pegged the driver, who now seemed intent on running us off the road, as a religious fanatic who probably was offended by our overzealous performance. He might have been seizing an opportunity to preach his fire and brimstone to a captive carload of women.
A sinister decal on the side door, that appeared to depict a scene of vile carnage**, and the prominent gun-rack in the cabin of the truck made the paranoid New Yorker in me assess him as more of a "48 Hours of Dateline on 20/20 ID" serial killer who possibly stalked middle-aged women exhibiting really bad driving skills, traveling with carload of perky, under-age cheerleader types.
Whatever freak-flag this lunatic was flying, it became clear he was not giving up. It looked like he might follow us home. Each of my passengers lived in remote locations that conveniently could be reached only by remote side roads. The nearest business that might still be open would also require a trip through an area that would seem like Valhalla for anyone seeking to conduct his or her business in private and bury the evidence.
Reluctantly, I pulled over. Within seconds the scary, “have-gun-will-travel" serial-fanatic, materializes outside my window.
Armed with a dangerously hot can of Diet Coke, I cracked the window, ready to "de-mythify" an urban legend. Meanwhile, the girls began fighting over what they would have told the 911 operator if only they had enough battery and "bars" to call for help. At least they were willing to admit it had been a mistake to "tweet" so many complaints outlining my earlier power trip and create a Facebook page to support the revolution they had intended to launch. It also hadn't been wise to look up pictures of the "hot" guys in the cast of GODSPELL while all of the devices in our possession were so dangerously low on batteries. But it was a little late for regrets...
Grinning like a hyena, our stalker announced his intent:
"That was GODSPELL, right? Turn it back on. Holy s*&%! I love that show! Believe it or not, I played "Jesus" in high school!"
He was right - we NEVER would have guessed - but he had good taste so he couldn't be all bad, right? As far as I knew, there had never been a case of a rabid theater enthusiast going postal, nor could I recall any incidents of mass-murder tied to the theater world.
Obeying his request, I turned the CD back on.
"Where'dyaget it? It's freakin' phenomenal! Never thought they could improve on a classic." Hoping to get him to the point of this encounter, I succinctly brought him up to speed about the fate of this latest production.
"Unfreakin'believable! I've been tellin' my kids about this play for years and watching for a high school production ('cause that movie sucked) so they could see for themselves. I've been playin' the original soundtrack since the cradle. How the hell did I not know it was happening? We try to hit Broadway at least twice a year." He seems to be getting worked up - maybe my initial assessment was accurate. "My daughter's gonna have my balls for breakfast if she finds out some of these kids were on Glee and in High School Musical" Those details had been provided by Melanie, who seemed to recognize someone from her own tribe.
Long story short, "scary truck guy" was named Sebastian - 'El Bastardo' to his friends. He turned out to be just another frustrated theater major forced to abandon his dream of being the next Jerry Orbach (*x3) to pursue a paycheck. We let him recount his glory days on the stage, from his debut as baby Jesus in a Nativity play presented by his former parish in the Brooklyn (He was typecast at an early age) to his subsequent departure from the boards, due to the lack of vision shown by his professors at De Sales University (when they recommended that he rethink his major.) He confided that it took years to gain perspective and understand that he had not been cast in the lead for all of his high school productions based on talent, the truth was his voice carried to the rafters and they had a sub-standard sound system. In high school, the audience is comprised of family and friends a.k.a. built-in fans. Regardless of how cheesy, flat or uninspired the performance may have been, if they could hear it in the balcony you would get your standing ovation. Gaining the insight that comes with age, he eventually accepted that he hadn't been cheated out of a career on the stage. He chose a different path and became a successful businessman. His big regret was that he had not been able to surround himself with fellow theatre enthusiasts or spend his life immersed in musical scores.
It was getting really late. At this point, I would have promised to have him& his family over for a barbecue/impromptu GODSPELL cabaret if he'd let us leave. I was convinced that he was virtually harmless, however, once the music stopped, my passengers sussed that the air-conditioner wasn't on and we weren't moving. If you have ever been trapped in a car with teenagers who are hot, tired, hungry and "disconnected" for well over an hour you would understand why I was beginning to regret that this guy was not a crazed lunatic. Had he lived up to my worst fears I probably would have been put out of my misery by now? Instead, he was leaning on the window, blocking any chance I might have had for a clean getaway. I hoped he would recognize the inhuman tableau that was unfolding inside my vehicle and feel some sympathy for my plight, especially since he mentioned having daughters about the same age as my passengers.
Regrettably, Sebastian did have experience and therefore had become immune to the many instruments of torture teenage girls kept in their arsenals. Worse still, because he had been hard-pressed to find fellow "THEATRE" enthusiasts among the members of his Rod and Gun Club or the guys who worked for his sewage/septic inspection company (see **), he was not about to let this captive audience go. He had enjoyed the pleasure that comes from belonging to a community of kindred spirits while at college and had spent the intervening years trying to repopulate his life with like-minded individuals – unsuccessfully. Tonight, the demon that lay dormant within his soul was unleashed. Not a psycho-sexual deviant kind of demon, just an opinionated theater buff desperate to share his views, such as how "phenomenal" he thought "Smash" could have been if they just cut all the storyline that didn't build up to a musical number. He also tried to engage us in something he called the "Weber vs. Wildhorn" debate. Settling into the window, with no signs of budging, Sebastian expressed his bewilderment at the fact that there has never been a film version of a musical that could give him goosebumps the way live theater does. We nodded in agreement. In El Bastardo's opinion, “It’s criminal to haftapay two hundred friggin' dollars to have your cojones squeezed into your gut for a chance to see some Hollywood bimbo chewing the scenery while thousands of truly talented actors are waiting tables at the joint next door!" I agreed in theory, though having no “cojones” I couldn’t claim the same discomfort. I prayed that he had run out of steam and would get back in his truck drive away.
Sadly, there was more. Sooooo much more.
As an encore, he began to list every play he had ever seen, wanted to see or had taken his family to. I asked if he couldn’t share this meaningful dialogue with his loved ones? Apparently, though happy to participate in anything that brought them into the City, none of them shared his interest in anything more than a night out in NYC.
The girls had reached Def-Con5 and I was ready to re-enact Javerts suicide scene right there into the Delaware River. Oblivious to my anguish he took off on yet another tangent. He wanted to sing a quick number from "Grease" to get my "expert opinion". Evidently, the mere possession of a cast album coupled with a rudimentary knowledge of modern theater and performing arts qualified me as an authority. It appears that the rest of the population of Northeast PA who fit that profile had enough sense to keep it hidden when they encountered this guy. I became worried we'd end up staging "Summer Lovin'" as a roadside attraction. Though the spectacle may have attracted some assistance, the way my luck was going, it would have garnered an audience instead.
The newly resurrected harpies decided to let up a bit on the torment in order to reevaluate the situation. Realizing that this once menacing man was just another adult rambling on about "olden times", and that he wasn't hitting on me - or showing the slightest interest in them, they re-launched their terror campaign in earnest. They threatened to walk home. I pointed out they had no cell service and the GPS was not portable. They threatened to commandeer the vehicle. I waited for one of them to figure out WHY we weren't moving. They threatened to sing - I could deal with that. They threatened to give my new pal my real cell, work, and home phone number - I could screen my calls. Then my daughter provided what could have been the deathblow:
"You guys should get together some time and finish this conversation! My mom hangs out in the City with a bunch of her friends that work in theater in this place nobody knows about..."
Fearing she was about to do irrevocable damage, I cut her off.
"It's called McCann's." First dive bar that sprang to mind.
OK. I know this was a mean trick but when the last refuge of my city life was being threatened, drastic measures had to be taken.
Fortunately, there was no sign of recognition on his part.
I threw my daughter a look that said, "He may not be a psycho but I'm about to become one." She got the message. The rest of the Greek Chorus became mute.
Even though he hadn't caught the look I threw or the silent agreement that had taken place right in front of his eyes, the sudden quiet from my tormentors seemed to tip him off that something wasn't quite right. Sensing the GODSPELL magic was wearing off and he was about to lose this much-desired forum for his pent-up ideas and critiques, he attempted to solidify our bond by "making plans”.
“Why don't I take youseall to the City. With my family, of course. I'm not hittin' on ya or nothin'." I assured him that never crossed our minds but meeting up this week would be impossible. He shifted back to my "special" hangout.
"Let me know when your gonna be there, I can get into the city whenever I want. I'd love to meet your friends, talk theater, the whole nine yards. Whadaya call that place again?" I knew he wasn't leaving without a commitment so...
You understand why I had to do this?
"McCann's. You should sooooo stop by. Don't let the smell of urine or the guys passed out in the front fool you, the real action takes place in the back room."
I know what you are thinking - I had traveled over to the dark side along with my passengers.
Poor guy, hope he never plans on stopping by, it would be a really rude awakening. (I sincerely hope there is no backroom!)
At this point, I really didn't care. I had been more than cordial to a stranger. I had been far more patient with the harpies than they deserved - they were lucky I was honor-bound to return to their parents in semi-working order. Up until now, I had managed to diffuse all of their threats. However, between their unrelenting efforts to destroy my otherwise unflappable facade and the puppy-like enthusiasm of our captor (who was now offering to take everybody out for dinner so we could continue this conversation), I was at my breaking point.
"Could ya play that record one more time?" I couldn't believe what I was hearing! "It will pump up my spirits that are sorely in need of a lift." Certifiable lunatic. I had been right all along!
I had to remind myself that this guy's floundering spirit was not my responsibility. Who dumps that kind of guilt on a stranger, especially one you highjacked on the side of the road? I realized that there had been no apology. Did enjoying our music a little too fervently commit us to share the experience with anyone who fell under its spell?
Time to take control of the situation. After all, I was the "QUEEN OF EVERYTHING"
So I started making promises.
First, I made a promise to the girls who, without the musical distraction, were reverting to the belligerent b#*%&s. I promised them that, if they used their powers for good and backed up whatever I was about to say, I'd get them out of this alive and reasonably unharmed. They scoffed at my meager offering. I had to up the ante. I offered to take them all to see "Wicked" this summer. Not that ANYTHING would ever entice me to take them ANYWHERE ever again. But I was desperate and not above lying to get support. Thankfully, this secured their cooperation.
Then I set out to negotiate our freedom. I promised to:
1) Send Sebastian a friend request (Musical.Muthatrucker@wannabe.com) so we could continue sharing our thoughts and feelings about our mutual interests in an open forum. ?!?
2) Email him links to my Broadway sources (Google?).
I had to remind myself that this guy's floundering spirit was not my responsibility. Who dumps that kind of guilt on a stranger, especially one you highjacked on the side of the road? I realized that there had been no apology. Did enjoying our music a little too fervently commit us to share the experience with anyone who fell under its spell?
Time to take control of the situation. After all, I was the "QUEEN OF EVERYTHING"
So I started making promises.
First, I made a promise to the girls who, without the musical distraction, were reverting to the belligerent b#*%&s. I promised them that, if they used their powers for good and backed up whatever I was about to say, I'd get them out of this alive and reasonably unharmed. They scoffed at my meager offering. I had to up the ante. I offered to take them all to see "Wicked" this summer. Not that ANYTHING would ever entice me to take them ANYWHERE ever again. But I was desperate and not above lying to get support. Thankfully, this secured their cooperation.
Then I set out to negotiate our freedom. I promised to:
1) Send Sebastian a friend request (Musical.Muthatrucker@wannabe.com) so we could continue sharing our thoughts and feelings about our mutual interests in an open forum. ?!?
2) Email him links to my Broadway sources (Google?).
Apparently, Sebastian had decided that I was "connected". I wanted to say, “I’m not a theater expert but I did read The Producers Perspective while staying at a Holiday Inn Express.” but I feared he wouldn’t get the joke. Instead, I told him I’d be happy to share my "secrets" & connections. I wish I had some! (*x4)
3) Follow MusicalMothatrucker(*x5) on Twitter & provide updates; especially any rumors about 70's musical revivals. Should I have mentioned "Superstar”? God help me – no!!! I’d still be on that roadside!
4) Subscribe to his vlog and YouTube Channel, where he said his stint as the Son of God has been preserved for posterity. (You can bet I'm headed to YouTube once I complete this!)
Finally, I insisted he take the soundtrack that started it all, assuring him I could easily replace the CD through one of my "secret" sources (Amazon?) In a last-ditch effort to extricate my justifiably petulant passengers and myself from out captor, I told him there might still be tickets available for GODSPELL this last weekend. I'd send him the link to "my" source (Telecharge!) as soon as I got home.
The notion that he might actually get a chance to see one of the final performances of the updated production was more enticing than holding us hostage any longer. He bid a quick "adieu" ("Gotta go. Catchalater") and sped off into the night. I matched his speed, thankfully in the opposite direction!
Even though I gave him a phony name & email address (pray he didn't catch my license) I diligently posted the promised information on his Facebook wall using a screen name created by Melanie that she thought I didn't know about. I even sent him some Godspell Newsletters that contained ticket offers for the final days. That’s about as connected as I get.
Sebastian was such a true GODSPELL fan and so eager to see one of the final Broadway performances before it closed on the 24th.
I really hope he got to see the show!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Really Unnecessary Footnotes
*Or escapees from an asylum
** Upon closer scrutiny I discovered that the graphic on his truck was not, as we assumed when he pulled alongside our car, a guy disemboweling a pig with his bare hands. It was the logo from his very lucrative business, depicting an SEO deploying a "rooter" into a septic tank.
*** Back in the day someone told him he looked/sounded like Jerry Orbach. I can’t think of another stage legend he could be compared to. He might have had a shot if there was ever a musical based on the Spielberg film "Duel" or maybe "Sopranos –the Musical” - he would be a terrific Silvio, menacing and monotone.
**** The only secrets I know about anything going on in theater comes from occasionally checking in on Twitter. I may have had a few “connections” when I lived & worked in the City – 20 years ago! My mailman would give me house seats for all the shows playing theaters on his route. Because my father gave his son a job while he was attending college, I had the incredible opportunity to see hundreds of shows for free over the years. I got spoiled. Then he retired. Now his son is my dentist so I still get perks -not quite as fun but still valuable. Talk about a single act of kindness paying forward! My other link to the theater was a group of British actors who hung out at my bar when their wives were in town. The rest of the time they frequented less savory establishments (ironically, McCanns & the even seedier, McHales) and often spent the night on my couch because they were “legless”.They were working actors who knew their way around the theater district - they just couldn’t find their way home! In those days I employed many “hyphens”: Dancer-Waitress, Singer-Bartender, Actor-Maitre d’ – occasionally one of them would get a gig. Many took the same route as Sebastian and went on to successful careers in other fields. One became a celebrity stylist; another became CEO of one of the first plus-sized modeling agencies; one of the most talented women I ever met gave up her singing/acting/professional wrestling career and is now a psychic up in Albany http://www.seraphimskeep.com/ Two of my former employees did achieve success in show business. One of them starred in six major motion pictures and a TV series. Also, there is one current A-list actress who was the first person I ever fired (for something really nasty!) I guess she should thank me If I hadn't caught her doing the thing she did (which I'll NEVER tell) she might still be a mediocre waitress. None of these "connections" would help Sebastian, but why take a chance of disappointing a guy crazy enough to stop a car full of females late at night to chat about theater?
3) Follow MusicalMothatrucker(*x5) on Twitter & provide updates; especially any rumors about 70's musical revivals. Should I have mentioned "Superstar”? God help me – no!!! I’d still be on that roadside!
4) Subscribe to his vlog and YouTube Channel, where he said his stint as the Son of God has been preserved for posterity. (You can bet I'm headed to YouTube once I complete this!)
Finally, I insisted he take the soundtrack that started it all, assuring him I could easily replace the CD through one of my "secret" sources (Amazon?) In a last-ditch effort to extricate my justifiably petulant passengers and myself from out captor, I told him there might still be tickets available for GODSPELL this last weekend. I'd send him the link to "my" source (Telecharge!) as soon as I got home.
The notion that he might actually get a chance to see one of the final performances of the updated production was more enticing than holding us hostage any longer. He bid a quick "adieu" ("Gotta go. Catchalater") and sped off into the night. I matched his speed, thankfully in the opposite direction!
Even though I gave him a phony name & email address (pray he didn't catch my license) I diligently posted the promised information on his Facebook wall using a screen name created by Melanie that she thought I didn't know about. I even sent him some Godspell Newsletters that contained ticket offers for the final days. That’s about as connected as I get.
Sebastian was such a true GODSPELL fan and so eager to see one of the final Broadway performances before it closed on the 24th.
I really hope he got to see the show!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Really Unnecessary Footnotes
*Or escapees from an asylum
** Upon closer scrutiny I discovered that the graphic on his truck was not, as we assumed when he pulled alongside our car, a guy disemboweling a pig with his bare hands. It was the logo from his very lucrative business, depicting an SEO deploying a "rooter" into a septic tank.
*** Back in the day someone told him he looked/sounded like Jerry Orbach. I can’t think of another stage legend he could be compared to. He might have had a shot if there was ever a musical based on the Spielberg film "Duel" or maybe "Sopranos –the Musical” - he would be a terrific Silvio, menacing and monotone.
**** The only secrets I know about anything going on in theater comes from occasionally checking in on Twitter. I may have had a few “connections” when I lived & worked in the City – 20 years ago! My mailman would give me house seats for all the shows playing theaters on his route. Because my father gave his son a job while he was attending college, I had the incredible opportunity to see hundreds of shows for free over the years. I got spoiled. Then he retired. Now his son is my dentist so I still get perks -not quite as fun but still valuable. Talk about a single act of kindness paying forward! My other link to the theater was a group of British actors who hung out at my bar when their wives were in town. The rest of the time they frequented less savory establishments (ironically, McCanns & the even seedier, McHales) and often spent the night on my couch because they were “legless”.They were working actors who knew their way around the theater district - they just couldn’t find their way home! In those days I employed many “hyphens”: Dancer-Waitress, Singer-Bartender, Actor-Maitre d’ – occasionally one of them would get a gig. Many took the same route as Sebastian and went on to successful careers in other fields. One became a celebrity stylist; another became CEO of one of the first plus-sized modeling agencies; one of the most talented women I ever met gave up her singing/acting/professional wrestling career and is now a psychic up in Albany http://www.seraphimskeep.com/ Two of my former employees did achieve success in show business. One of them starred in six major motion pictures and a TV series. Also, there is one current A-list actress who was the first person I ever fired (for something really nasty!) I guess she should thank me If I hadn't caught her doing the thing she did (which I'll NEVER tell) she might still be a mediocre waitress. None of these "connections" would help Sebastian, but why take a chance of disappointing a guy crazy enough to stop a car full of females late at night to chat about theater?
*****Not his actual screen name - but it should have been! His was a lot worse.
Postscript:
If I ruled the world instead of just my imaginary car kingdom, I would have granted that everyone who holds a fond memory of GODSPELL and all the kids who never had a chance to experience the magic would have gotten the opportunity to see this awesome production. That would have meant extending its run indefinitely. Unfortunately, my royal coffers are only comprised of the change underneath my floor mats and a few expired toll tokens.
There is a reason that this play has left an indelible impression on everyone who has ever been a part of it, whether they were on stage, in the audience or behind the scenes. Or just passing by as the music wafted through the air...
My other regret is that I didn't get back to see this show more often.
I would have been there for every one of those final performances but Melanie was leaving that weekend to attend a performing arts program for the entire summer and her needs will always take priority over my "wants". The best news was that upon arrival at PAI she found her “TRIBE” and never looked back. Nothing beats spending your time with people who “get” you. Too bad there isn’t a summer camp like that for adults.
If this hadn't been the final week I might have spent my summer driving around with the soundtrack blaring, recruiting new disciples for this fabulous experience. That's a moot point now - unless there are plans for a tour... I'm always up for a road trip!
If anyone wanted a testimonial to drum up support for a GODSPELL tour, I’d offer this story. I think it illustrates the unfathomable essence that creates such a long-lasting bond and defines the GODSPELL fan.
It could be accurately claimed that GODSPELL was tested "on the road" and developed an immediate "following"; it was received enthusiastically with overwhelming, unexpected response and demand for more.
Potential backers are sure to come running, especially the ones who have their own GODSPELL memories to share. If they don't, I can give you the name of a guy who might be able to convince them!
(Hint: he drives a red truck...)
Postscript:
If I ruled the world instead of just my imaginary car kingdom, I would have granted that everyone who holds a fond memory of GODSPELL and all the kids who never had a chance to experience the magic would have gotten the opportunity to see this awesome production. That would have meant extending its run indefinitely. Unfortunately, my royal coffers are only comprised of the change underneath my floor mats and a few expired toll tokens.
There is a reason that this play has left an indelible impression on everyone who has ever been a part of it, whether they were on stage, in the audience or behind the scenes. Or just passing by as the music wafted through the air...
My other regret is that I didn't get back to see this show more often.
I would have been there for every one of those final performances but Melanie was leaving that weekend to attend a performing arts program for the entire summer and her needs will always take priority over my "wants". The best news was that upon arrival at PAI she found her “TRIBE” and never looked back. Nothing beats spending your time with people who “get” you. Too bad there isn’t a summer camp like that for adults.
If this hadn't been the final week I might have spent my summer driving around with the soundtrack blaring, recruiting new disciples for this fabulous experience. That's a moot point now - unless there are plans for a tour... I'm always up for a road trip!
If anyone wanted a testimonial to drum up support for a GODSPELL tour, I’d offer this story. I think it illustrates the unfathomable essence that creates such a long-lasting bond and defines the GODSPELL fan.
It could be accurately claimed that GODSPELL was tested "on the road" and developed an immediate "following"; it was received enthusiastically with overwhelming, unexpected response and demand for more.
Potential backers are sure to come running, especially the ones who have their own GODSPELL memories to share. If they don't, I can give you the name of a guy who might be able to convince them!
(Hint: he drives a red truck...)
Wonderful wonderful post. I’m now lamenting the fact that I’m discovering your blog more than two years too late and now when I am supposed to be working. This piece is eloquent and hilarious. Any chance you’ll be posting anything more?
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