Today was just lovely. Small rain as we were leaving the apartment and arriving at the park. Christy, Agatha, and Sylvie met us with umbrellas. Christy had the key to the park, and we entered. No one else was there, perhaps because of the rain. Edwin Booth's statue, in full light was obvious (not so obvious the previous summer when we entered at dusk). He faces the entry gate. The statue is fully guarded by 6' high very thorny roses, so the plan to dust his feet was quickly revised. The garden at his feet has the thorny roses (a beautiful pale pink, and wonderful smelling!), and also low Rosemary, in bloom. The small box of Edwin's ashes I'd been carrying since yesterday was dusted in a complete circle around Booth. The roses duly smelled, and one petal taken and deposited in the box, as was one sprig of Rosemary floweret. Then a moment of silence among us all, during which I silently chanted Om mani padme hung. We hugged, and left.

Sylvie went to work, and the rest of us went across the street to the Arts Club and had a lovely lunch, and shared memories of Edwin. Our waiter was a fine waiter and an Irish actor, and we shared our mission a bit with him.

It was a sweet, good, fine day.

Ghosts and Ghost lights

Ghosts and Ghost lights

Tales of haunted theaters abound, not only in America, but also in Europe. Almost every theater in fact has an unexplainable occurrences that some attribute to ghosts. Jim Whitherell, who was head of the COS Theater Department for over 30 years, has one as well. It happened when the COS theatre was fairly new. One of the acting students had been killed shortly before this incident in a car accident. The stage lights flickered on and off throughout one dress rehearsal, when the lighting booth was inaccessible. Many theaters even attribute much luck to any one who sites one of their theater's apparitions. Anyone who sees the Drury Lane Ghost in London, England is supposed to have extraordinary success in acting.

Ghost lights are another interesting superstition. The generally accepted definition of a ghost Light is “… a single bare-bulb lamp left burning in the middle of the stage all night.” (Knapp) There are many ideas about how the practice of ghost lights came to be. There is everything from an urban legend about a burglar in a theater who sued when he fell off the stage in the dark, to that simply it is an equity mandate. (Primrose)

The Krannert Center for the Performing Arts gives this background on their ghost lights; “There is a special light on a pole that can usually be pointed out easily in this theater. This is known as the ghost light. There is one in each of the four theaters. They are there for two reasons- one more practical and the second more fun. The first reason for the ghost light is so when someone walks into backstage of the dark theater they don't trip over set pieces and hurt themselves or accidentally walk off of the edge of the stage. The second reason is that back in Shakespeare's time candles were burned in theaters to scare away ghosts from old performances. Many theaters burned down from the simple fact that fire and wood don't mix but since we now have electricity, that is really not a problem.”

We do not have a ghost light on the COS theater stage--not yet anyway. Fortunately, we do have light switches next to all the theater entrances, so that fumbling in the dark does not occur. Recently, I found that our neighbor, the Southern Oregon University theater stage does have one. They have even named it--Helga.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

N.B. ~~ At the Memorial Celebration, while setting up, I asked Joe about the hat tree. Though it had always been there, it wasn't. He found the Ghost Light, and arranged Edwin's hats and one scarf on that. Some time during the service, several people noticed that because of the stage lights, the Ghost Light with Edwin's hats cast a shadow on the wall to the side. From Agatha's post this morning at HEP:

"Tracey Denton was there and spoke from her heart. Tracey is the head of DFNYC, and during the Dean days, she blogged as Tracey in Hell's Kitchen. I think she and Edwin are similar in that they can both be absolute professionals and wonderful human beings without a seam present, simply because they are both very real.

"She was very sad and moved, and she was also struck by a certain shadow. puddle had Edwin's hats and a scarf arranged on a pole onstage. It created a shadow of what I would describe as a man with his back to the audience, very present and there but technically facing forward. Interesting. Edwinesque?"

When I looked, it wasn't "a man," it was clearly Edwin: The edge of the cheekbone, the collar, the shoulders, hair, Was about two thirds back, one third right side of the face. Not quite profile. The presence of the shadow was electrifying to say the least. Whether he actually arranged it or not, I'm positively sure he enjoyed it!

Bon voyage, Sweet Heart. I love you.

An Open Heart

Nearly a month and yet so raw
the pain.
Of course a celebration.
Of course move on.
Drink the kind words
yes even the laughter for
bright shining times there were
indeed.
And friends, so many friends.
Winter comes too cold
to be alone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
we are all there with you puddle

by Phil Specht

I am SOOOOooo glad it wasn't a funeral. . . .

Just back, and threads read.

Longest celebration in my memory. 3:30 to 10:30 p.m. First part was at the experimental theatre where Edwin had done a number of plays, including as a director. Joe Clancy from The Drilling Company was the "producer" ~~ and offered the opening about theatre, what actors do, and why it's important, and then memories of his own. The next speaker was Paul Hilepo, who spoke about how kind Edwin was to him as a young agent, and how impressive it was to represent an actor who personified honor in the profession. Then Greg Simmons, maybe Edwin's closest friend, read from some other friends' memories. I talked, a bit, trying to fill in some spaces. And then we turned it over to the celebrators. And my, such lovely memories, from old and young. Those who'd worked with him ~~ both in theatre, and on the hustings. His young Maggie from the WV gig; drinking buddies, an upstairs neighbor, his shrink, incognito, spoke of how ill he was for how very long, and how it was that he never complained or used it as an excuse. Ever. Of what courage. Tracey Denton, DFNYC spoke of her love for the sheer reliability of the man: always being there when needed. Joe recalled an email from a 12 year old understudy from on Golden Pond that Edwin was helping (and was looking forward to coaching when they got back to NYC). Subway spoke, and Chris, and Agatha. Part one broke up at 5:30, and after a smoking break we headed to Joe Allen's, Edwin's "club" ~~ a place he loved dearly. We stayed too late to get to Gramercy Park, so we'll be doing that tomorrow. First rounds to toast Edwin, then a few left and a couple of more came. Edwin's CDs found new homes both at the celebration and at Joe Allen's. Left the last 10 or so at Joe Allen's so some of the waitstaff who wasn't there, who'd like a keepsake could pick them up. More memories shared at Joe's.

A lovely day really, a few tears, much laughter, and a LOT of very sweet memories of a very kind and great man.
puddle*in*NYC | Homepage | 10.17.06 - 12:39 am | #

Got the copied pictures cropped and in a collage ready for the memorial celebration tomorrow. Need to transfer some of his ashes to a smaller container for the after celebration dusting in Gramercy park. At the foot of Edwin Booth's statue. Do NOT want to start a day with that task ahead of me. The basket full of his CDs is ready to go (asking friends to take some: I have taken many, but so many are left). The prayer bowl was polished weeks ago it seems. The hats need brushing, but that's all. Friends are coming early to help carry things over to the theatre. His friend, Ofrit, has composed some music for him, and is sending it over (from Israel) to play at the celebration. Everything feels done, or nearly, and right on track.

And it's all making me feel desolate. As if from now on, it'll be everybody's job to get back to life, to forget and get on with it.

I'm not even close to wanting to get on with it. . . .

One thing, however, marriage has done for me. I can never again believe that religion is manufactured out of our unconscious, starved desires and is a substitute for sex. For those few years H. and I feasted on love, every mode of it — solemn and merry, romantic and realistic, sometimes as dramatic as a thunderstorm, sometimes as comfortable and unemphatic as putting on your soft slippers. No cranny of heart or body remained unsatisfied. If God were a substitute for love we ought to have lost all interest in Him. Who'd bother about substitutes when he has the thing itself? But that isn't what happens. We both knew we wanted something besides one another — quite a different kind of something, a quite different kind of want...

~~ C.S. Lewis
~~~ from A Grief Observed

All I can add to this is: Indeed!

"I must go on, I can't go on, I'll go on."

The Unnamable
~~ Samuel Beckett

“You gain strength, courage and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face… You must do the thing you think you cannot do.”

~~ Eleanor Roosevelt

Journal, such as it is. . . .

10 - 12 2006 9:27 AyeM

Beginning to feel doors close here: RCN called yesterday about the late bill. Which prolly means I don't have two weeks. . . . Have to find the new bill and call them. Also, need to pay my own bills in WV, so that I *can* go home again.

~~~~~~~~

Just checked. Cable will go on the 19th, phone on the 24. Or I can pay the bill. . . . $249. Hardly seems worth it. . . .

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thinking about the mess I'm trying to clean up. Very nearly got pissed a minute ago. Guess pissed is a good thing: everyone sez so.



October 13, 2006 9:54 ehEm

The first laughter feels like betrayal.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Going "Home" to a place that doesn't feel like home anymore. Hasn't in fact *been* my home for a year an a half (since I first came here). Home was where my heart was. Now home is ashes. And I have to leave this place: things shutting down around me, faster than I'd like: lights burning out, phones shut down, and about to be shut down. The landlord will be knocking on the door soon. So I clear, clean, and pack. Pain, gnawing bones, must be put on the back burner so "things" can get done. And when "things" no longer matter, then what?

So March has become a museum,
And the April curtains move.
I travel the vacant gallery
To the last seat...
The actors pitch tents..
Their cries in the powdered dark
Assemble in mourning over
Ambassadors from the wings....
I move to the interval,
Done with this repertory.

~~Harold Pinter

Wuzzup with that?

Heard him tell this once or twice. Back when he was in hollywood, working on black hat/ white hat movies, the actors would be sitting around between takes. The "bad guys" would be exchanging pics of cats, dogs, and toddlers whilst the "good guy" was passing around photos of his new Uzi he'd gotten on his last trip overseas. . . .

These nice little blue flowers are forgetmenots. . . .

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx 10 -10 ayem

He was not dead in my dreams last night. He was not present, but he was not dead. Progress of a sort, I think.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx 10-10 2:36 peeEm

Greg just woke me from a nap. In which Edwin was! Alive and acting, and in which I got a huge, surprised (on his part) hug! Literally lifted me off the pavement. He was busy, running along side a train, or building with lots of doors, and I was looking for him, and he saw me, grabbed me up into the air, then sat me down, and hurried some more.


xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Lear ~

During the hospitalization, I had occasion to be in contact many of his friends in the business, and five or six times heard a version of: Well tell him to get better: he plans to die at 82, on stage, while performing Lear. . . . He'd told me that when talking about the impossibility (for him) of ever retiring. "God help me, but I *love* what I do" was something he said oftener. Musing on this just now, and looking through The Players Club site's membership rolls to find Marian Seldes. . . . I remembered something she said to him at the opening night party for The Right Kind of People.

So, you've always wanted to play Lear?

Nod.

Well, I believe you just did.

A pause, a little light in the eyes, a grin, and another, emphatic, nod.

Thank you, Marian Seldes, for the comment, and the memory! He was very pleased.

I walked across that bridge in Selma, I was shot at in Mississippi, I’ve done what I was capable of doing over the years.

Edwin and activism

One of the things he was most proud of in his life, and therefore spoke of least often (usually prefaced by, I'm not bragging but. . . . the rule of his household of origin was that you didn't speak of things that you were proud of: that was "bragging") was his activism. His very real, "put your body into it" activism. Put your time, put your money, put your brain and heart into activism. Speak up even if you are afraid activism. Do it even if it's dangerous activism.

What I know for sure of that is what he told me. As a young man, first away at college in the late fifties, early sixties, he started at Tulane, and gravitated immediately to the theatre department although his official major was pre-law. The theatre department was crawling with community organizers. He wasn't adverse, and joined them. After that he was at Carnegie, and then at Lambda, in London. Was back in the US in Florida, doing Shakespeare in 1965. Just in time for the King and Meredith Marches.

He told me once about sitting around a camp fire in the dark, surrounded by state troopers. Everyone being afraid, and Seeger striding through with his guitar and everyone singing their fears away.

Yesterday, I found the pictures of that very intense young man in Florida. The piercing gaze, the soft curling hair. And loved him all over again. Last night, I was looking through pictures of the marches, and found this one. It's from the March Against Fear in 1966. They'd stop every night, and the leaders would speak to them, encourage them.




Perhaps this *isn't* Edwin. Some other white boy with soft curling hair. But I kind of think it is. The way the ear lays against the head is one I'm heart-breakingly familiar with. . . .

I have to say, that in the process of messing around in this man's great glorious messy life, I've discovered a whole bunch of really remarkable women. Noticeably, clearly, amazingly remarkable women: strong, talented, gifted females. I've talked a good bit with a couple, more briefly with others. The fact remains: the man had an eye, and a talent for picking great ones. . . . I'm honored to be the last in the line. . . .

And yes, I think I would have been. We came home to each other.

Update: failed to mention that his Best Man at his second wedding was a woman. . . .

When he'd get depressed about the state of the universe, I'd send him this. It helped.

You have been telling the people that this is the Eleventh Hour. Now you must tell the people that this is the Hour. And there are things to be considered:

Where are you living? What are you doing?

What are your relationships? Are you in right relation?

Do the children want what they see in you?

Where is your water? Know your garden.

Does your life grow corn?

It is time to speak your Truth. Create your community.

Be good to each other. And do not look outside yourself for the leader.

This could be a good time!

There is a river flowing now very fast.

It is so great and swift that there are those who will be afraid. They will try to hold on to the shore. They will feel they are being torn apart, and they will suffer greatly.

Know the river has its destination.

The elders say we must let go of the shore, push off into the middle of the river, keep our eyes open and our heads above the water.

See who is in there with you and celebrate.

At this time in history, we are to take nothing personally. Least of all, ourselves. For the moment that we do, our spiritual growth and journey comes to a halt.

The time of the lone wolf is over. Gather yourselves!

Banish the word struggle from your attitude and vocabulary.

All that we do now must be done in a sacred manner and in celebration.

We are the ones we've been waiting for."




~~ The Elders, Oraibi, Arizona, Hopi Nation

We talked, once, of what a beautiful couple they made. . . .