My Track part 4

I haven’t forgotten that I never finished the breathtaking account of my nightly track. Here it is mixed with closing night/final performance stuff.

When last we saw our hero he was flailing feebly about during Big Battle, throwing up on Hilary Wright and making highly inappropriate comments to poor dead Travis Clark.

As soon as the lighting shifts to Queen’s Chamber I discreetly slip off stage behind the parapet ladder. The caring-for-the-dead and wounded continues on stage for several lines in low lighting, but I have to make a complete costume change so I’m out of there.

As an extra added attraction closing night there was a shiny aluminum extension ladder leaning against the inside chapel wall. I saw it right away when I pushed the beams down in Arrival but what the heck to do?

Nothing, that’s what. Keep going. There were plenty of jokes during Fishnet about it. I called it God’s Holy Ladder.  How the heck can all of the people involved in the intermission scene change have missed the big stupid ladder in plain sight? Jeez.

I make my way to the dressing room unsnapping and untying my cassock. In the dressing room Jessica is there and tosses my Depression robe over my head, snaps me up and adds a shawl and a scarf – unless Brett (Borden) needs assistance, which he sometimes does. John Borden is the Hero and fights and maims and kills a lot in the battle. A few times he has bonked his head and had some vertigo – other times he is smeared with Indian paint, which of course makes the costumers squawk and bustle about. They’re so cute. If Jess need to attend to him I dress myself cause I’m a big boy! It is not really a quick change but there is no time to waste either. I finish by putting on my gloves and head out, picking up my crutch from stage right props.

I grope my way to the entrance behind the Indian Stage and wait briefly. Pyro Steph is there to press the fog button and inquires how my ailment-of-the-night is proceeding (for the final show Father Martin was fine, in fact he has been faking it all summer). Stage Manager Mick O’Neil’s voice comes over the walkie “Lights and fog go” and I follow Eleanor out into the dark.

If it is dark – you all remember that three times each summer we go through the moon’s cycle of waxing to full so for several nights we’re not in the dark (unless its cloudy), but we walk out and freeze anyway.

We are on the Indian Path. Me, Eleanor and several Choir members. Over on the opposite stage Sir Walter is undergoing his transition into the Historian. This is Director Robert Richmond’s spin on the Historian. He’s really old Sir Walter who has been reminiscing about his Colony on Roanoke Island in the New World! At the end of Chamber he slowly starts to revolve. Three black-shrouded persons dart out and put the Historian’s robe and hat and handcuffs on. We call these mysterious costume-changers “the ninjas.” One night this summer the door they enter from (tavern door) was jammed shut. Raleigh revolved. They tried to force the door open for awhile – no go. Raleigh revolved some more. Those of us in the freeze were wondering what was going on, but we stayed frozen. Finally the ninjas ran around and out the Queen’s Path to change him.

When the lights come up on us on the Indian stage it is what we call “Baby Funeral” which has also been known in the past as “Mad Marge.“ The Choir sings “Adam Lay Ye Bounden,” Father Martin prays, and they lower a little coffin into the shrubbery next to the path. Eleanor goes down the path to the stage and I hobble after her on my crutch. There is a lot of narration so I pause to catch my breath and be feeble a couple of times but finally reach the pot as the narration and music end.

And thus begins my only scene where I actually talk to someone else. Scripted, that is. I have plenty of off-mic non-scripted blah blah throughout the show but the only time I have a scripted scene is with Eleanor at the top of the Pot Scene. Father Martin by this time is wretched and whiny” “It is ninety days till April,” he cries!

The main impression I take away from my one scene is standing almost nose to nose with Sydney on the really hot nights and watching the sweat visibly oozing from her face and dripping off her chin. I know I looked the same way to her.

Early on in the run I realized that as sick and old Father Martin I was being my father in his last couple of years. It was a little scary at first and I backed off from it but later I gave in and let my father come forth and make his appearance in The Lost Colony. Dad never approved of his son the actor. I was supposed to go off into the corporate world like him and his father and live the 1950s model, but I went into the show business instead. I recall my first year in the Colony my whole extended family did the beach house thing and everybody came to see the show…except Dad. It was very painful for me. A couple of years later he did come to see it.

When that brief scene is over I got helped up to my cabin by Chris Kiley, except a couple of times during the run it would be Korie Blossey, and thus I lay me down in my carefully arranged bedding and for all intents and purposes go to sleep for about ten minutes while Small Assembly – Pot Scene – Old Tom’s Parapet speech went on. I always tried to not move and figured out that I needed to have my head tilted a little so that the sweat could run off my face and not pool in my eye sockets. Sometimes I would have to move to swat mosquitoes that were landing on my face, but I tried to be as discreet as possible. I always kept my upstage eye open so that I wouldn’t actually fall asleep.

When the Runner (Travis Clark) starts screaming off stage is when I rouse, feebly at first and as people start entering for Large Assembly I turn over on my side to watch the proceedings.

The Runner this year comes on from the Queen’s Path. In the 1990s whoever played the Runner would wait all the way back by the nurse’s shack and get a signal light to cue him to start yelling “Captain Borden,” and would run all the way around the men’s dressing room and on to the stage. I remember one year when I was Old Tom and either the signal light failed or the actor wasn’t paying attention and there was no yell. I was standing on the parapet being A Man and….beat…beat…beat. Finally (as I later learned) Hunt Thomas, who was ASM, handed a rifle to Mike Campbell and said “Go.” Mike had played the Runner before and charged right on and did the scene. It was highly entertaining as we all coped with the unplanned replacement. Mike was perfect on the lines and timing, by the way.

I was specifically blocked to not rise from my bed until the end of Large Assembly this year. I sit up and gesture when the Negatives/Traitors run off stage but remain seated. When John and Eleanor go down to the jetty and kneel all the assembly kneels (except the Runner and Sentinel Joe Mallon). That is when I rise. As all go down I rise up, lean on my crutch and make my way onto the sand. Mrs. Manteo (Allison Arvay) is on the steps holding Wano/Wally. We have a very brief moment when I pass them. Early on it was a genuine show moment that later turned to blah but the last few nights reverted to genuine emotion. Closing night I said to them (as I did to most of my interactions) “It’s been a pleasure.”

I crutch my way through the kneeling crowd. Every night the placement of the people shifts a little bit and I have to avoid bumping into people.

If you have been in the show you know what closing night Large Assembly/Final March is like.  This year we did 74 performances (74 in 74!) and it seemed at times (as always) that it would never end. But the end came. John Borden intones: “And down the centuries that wait ahead, there’ll be some whisper of our names, some mention and devotion to the dream that brought us here.”

If there was a Colonist who wasn’t crying by that point…well there wasn’t. If only all the performances had that depth of emotion.

A moment. In the first row behind Borden and Eleanor is my young friend Juliet Eden. She is from the town I live in and we have done a bunch of shows together here (and in fact we two start rehearsals for “Guys and Dolls” this evening). I’ve known her since she was fifteen and a couple years ago I sent her off to be a dancer in the Colony. I don’t meet her at all during the show so had no moment with her until early on when I discovered her kneeling there as I pass through the crowd, so I made a moment. Each night as I pass her I give her a little bump with my crutch. For closing I let the bump linger for a second and she leaned into it. She is 21 and thinks I’m a sentimental old poop (which I am) but she puts up with me.

As Borden says: “And now into the hand of God we commend us,”  I hit my mark at the top of the green, a light comes on, the quiet choral underscoring ends bitter sweetly, I raise my hand and say: “Amen.”

The crowd scatters as we prepare for Final March. In the days leading up to closing extra people have been joining the march – you know – technicians and actors who are out before the end, everyone wants a chance for the moment that define the story. They were all welcome. For the last show, however, there were no extras, just the people who have done it all summer.

I stand center in front of the Chapel as the Colonists line up. T.J Pass stands down right with the tattered flag and begins the song in a quavery voice. Every prop and set piece that can be carried is taken up by the company. My moment in that has been Will Heckmueller who strikes the cross from the chapel. As he passes he pauses for Father Martin to kiss the cross, then he joins the line.

(Note: For the final performance Terry Snead (Governor White) was out of the show by pre-arrangement (a wedding) and Will went on for the Governor and did an outstanding job.

Note to the Note: That was the first and only time this season that a Principal actor was out of the show. That’s right – no Principal went out all summer, which I never remember happening before in all my years with the show.)

Final March was a weepy mess. Father Martin went face first into the sand one last time and the Runner gained redemption by helping the Father up the ramp.

John and Eleanor with the baby, the flag over the Chapel fluttering in the breeze.

Into the dark at the top of the ramp, where Lindsey McKee is nailing the high note that ends the show.

The curtain call went a few seconds extra as we all turned to applaud each other and we enjoyed a standing ovation from the audience.

After we all finished out after show tracks the clippers came out and beards were shaved. I wasted no time, I haven’t enjoyed looking like Santa Claus and/or God for the whole summer. When I came out of the dressing room people were stunned to discover that I wasn’t really eighty years old. As others emerged I was stunned to discover that so many of them appear to be twelve years old! Baby faces!

I almost forgot to sign the wall. I went back in to the dressing room to get my bag of random stuff I had taken in and left at the theater all summer when it hit me. Sign the wall! Leave a scribble!

“Don Bridge

Old Tom 1992 – 93 – 94 – 95 – 96 – 97.
A. Dare 1999!
Gov White 2003.
Fat Mat 2011.

Damn Everything But The Circus!”

Scribble 2011

Babies!

Last night was Baby Night. Having that element in the show brings a new level of excitement to Act II. Its funny – the twenty-somethings of course disdain babies and parenting and they’ll never go down that road, they’re too young and hip! (is “hip” still a word?) From my perspective the babies and the twenty-somethings are approximately the same age. When they go on about hating children I want to smile indulgently and pat them on the head. But even most of them had shining eyes during Christening. As for Father Martin – well – he could barely keep his shit together. The Christening Baby was a bright eyed smiling little girl who didn’t mind being christened Virginia. I found out later that her mother was also a Virginia Dare baby.

There was only one baby who cried, but it couldn’t have come at a better moment. During Large Assembly John and Eleanor knelt on the jetty, the rest of the Colonist kneeling behind them. When Borden started his line “Down the centuries to come there will be some mention of our name,” the baby cried briefly, but Sydney bounced her and she quieted.

 Paul Green couldn’t have written the moment any better.

Because everything old is new again.

From the journal I wrote in 2003.


Way back when this Company met in May, with our hair much shorter and stubble on our faces (and those were the girls), seventy-five percent of us were new, wondering what this Lost Colony deal was about. We called them Virgins. They were given little tasks to perform, got gifts from their Gods, went through a ritual that welcomed them into the very special extended TLC family and had the time of their lives at a party called Slaughter. They thought that was the end of it. They were in. They were Slaughtered.
Wrong.
Then came the next eleven weeks. There was freezing cold, crushing humidity, energy-draining heat, terrifyingly dangerous thunder and lightning storms, drenching rain that always miraculously stopped before show time, light rain that didn’t stop the performance. More sweat produced than can be believed; and what’s that smell?
There were mosquitoes chomping on them, more mayflies than I’ve ever seen, which don’t bite but never fail to fly into your mouth, or your ear, or down your shirt. Bees (we had a girl out for allergic reaction to a sting the other night), and some dillies that we don’t know what to call.
Cramped living conditions, crappy water (when there was any). Roomates you either came to like or despise. Love, hate, sex, frustration (sometimes all in the same day). Too much drinking. Sleeping all day. Going to work hung over.
They got sick, and the plaque spread through the Grove and the Show. As soon as they got better, a new plaque started its rounds. It was a bad year for a certain job-related affliction that I won’t mention except to say that the Company has gone through a lot of Gold Bond this year.
The PTW monster swallowed them, giving a microcosm of all of the above, and on top of all of the above.
Here, take these brochures, get into costume and stand out in the sun handing them out to tourists for several hours. You don’t mind, do you?
And doing the pageant. Endlessly. Waking, sleeping, sober, hung over, sick, itching. Do it till you know everybody’s lines, till you know every second of every scene and it goes off like clockwork – this, and this, and that, and (2…3…4)that! And you know it so well that you really only are aware of what’s happening on stage if the sequence is off. Love the Show one night. Be indifferent the next. Hate and despise it the next. And if you have to listen to that jackass make that bad adlib one more time you’ll scream!
Now it is the end of eleven weeks. The run is finished.
Slaughtered yet?
Nope. Now they have to leave here, get back to their lives; be it school, the next job, auditioning, or unemployment. Wherever they end up, in a few days or weeks they’ll suddenly be overcome with homesickness for this goodliest place.

Slaughtered.

I couldn't have said it better myself.

My Track part 3

Once I’ve trussed myself back into my costume and don my fur coat I go and stand in the wings stage right, ready for Act II. Lindsey is there and we try to decide what my illness of the night is. Sometimes there are many choices and we can’t decide. One of the criteria is that Lindsey has to be able to give clues so that the complaint can be guessed – but I’ll get to that. We are joined by Michael Murray who plays Simon Fernando. He always has highly graphic suggestions. As the music fades and the Dare Patrol enters the stage Stephanie Sexton passes through the scene dock and pauses to find out what’s the matter with Father Martin that evening. When we are in a quandary I’ll present the choices to her and let her decide. Once that very important decision has been made we continue to stand around shooting the shit with whoever passes by. Sydney Mitchell joins us. She is in her second year as Eleanor Dare and when she joins us she is very pregnant and we get to play with her baby bump. Old Tom is out there breaking his heart entertaining the audience with his Arrival monologue.

I am unable to be objective about how other actors portray and perform Old Tom. I was him for six seasons in the 90s. Brian Rooney is our second Old Tom this year and played him in 2007 – 08. He is good and so was Louis Butelli who started out the season.

In a conversation with Brian a few weeks ago he said something that describes my ambivalence about watching other Old Toms. When he came in at midsummer he sat out and watched the show several times and said that his muscle memory kept objecting to how the show had changed and not just about seeing Louis perform it, but the whole thing. But that pretty well describes how I can’t be objective – it should be done THIS way, there is a great bit HERE that’s being missed, if the scene were staged like THIS it would highlight THAT piece of business and WHY do they all have to scream the line “Roanoke, oh Roanoke, thou hast made a man of me?” It should be the quietest most poignant moment of the show.

See? I can’t let it go.

The way I handle this is by absolutely refusing to comment or kibitz on how other actors perform the role. I just offer encouragement.

In a conversation with Louis early in the summer he complained that the director kept telling him to do “something funny” with the sand in the Arrival monologue. He (and Brian) came up with some funny bits. I told Louis that there used to be a whole bible of funny Arrival sand bits that were passed down from generation to generation – but they’ve all been lost and nobody ever asked me.

Anyway…

Eventually the monologue nears its end with some business with Wano (Wally McCown) and Michael and I take our place behind Governor White and we all charge on. I go to the dead body (which is a skeleton now), kneel and mutter a prayer over the bones and get up when the Dare Patrol re-enters down the Queen’s Path. I move up onto the steps and look around. On cue I push the beams blocking the entrance to the chapel with a loud bang. Everyone kneels in the sand and it is finally time for me to speak. “Blah Blah Blah, Amen!” I say and the scene moves on.

I’ve mentioned this before but this scene is a source of major out-of-body déjà vu time traveling for me. I’ve been Governor White and I’ve been Ananias Dare and I’ve been Old Tom and when they speak in Arrival I am them and I’m talking to me as the other characters talking to each other – and they are me also. It’s quite the experience.

I stand in front of the chapel and make appropriate ad libs.

Speaking of muscle memory – I pretty much give the same ad libs that I’ve always done in that and all the other scenes, no matter which character I’m playing. They’re the same ad libs and they just pop out of my mouth with no thought. It’s all I can do to keep myself from doing them in Old Tom’s voice.

On “Mount the guard” John Borden (Brett Bolton) runs up and takes the flag from the Red Soldier standing near me. The soldier is Jamie Schor and we have a few seconds of conversation together, in theory about getting started cleaning up the wreckage but we abandoned that on about the third rehearsal and now talk about food, beer, sex, drugs and frequently blah blah gibberish. It’s a moment.

And we’re on to Transition and Fishnet! I don’t have any duties in Transition so I go into the chapel and pray at the altar for a few seconds while we’re singing “Sir Walter Raleigh’s Ship,” after Korie Blossie and Harrison Grant strike the beams. Then I go to my cabin. Red Soldier Thad Walker has set the desk, put the cross on the wall and unrolled my bedding. Miss Laura Long hands me my bible and we freeze for narrative blah blah.

I interact with Dame Coleman a bit as she looks for Old Tom and the water and we exchange a bit of disease-of-the-night small talk. When she goes down in the sand for the scene I cross to the other side of the stage and stand chatting with some guys in front of Eleanor’s cabin.

Again – a major time traveling moment for me. I’ve been in that group of men as two other characters and I keep seeing Eric Green as Fat Mat and Ethan Oulton and others. The group this year is T.J. Pass, Korie Blossey, Will Sanborn and Ben Panther Skaski. Maddie Arthur is there as well washing something in a bucket. We have a moment when we all laugh and point at someone. Sometimes it’s Maddie, sometimes it is Ananias, who is having his portrait done by Governor White, sometimes we’ll point and laugh at the sound booth – we’ve pointed and laughed at everyone and everything as the summer has gone on. It’s a moment.

Then it is back to my cabin where I peer at my bible and faithfully run the Christening prayer lines twice.

After Old Tom announces the baby I step center and intone “Oh Lord save this woman blah blah” and exit to behind the cabin where costumer Jessica Daniels quick changes me into my full priest robes.

I recall in the days when Jimmy Darmo played Father Martin the entire onstage Colonists would crowd in to the chapel and Jimmy would put on the white cassock concealed by the crowd. The cassock was stashed in a hollow bible and in fact that bible still exists and is on the altar – but the costume design has changed and I have to get most of my costume off and Jessica has both the black and the white cassocks bunched up for me to put my arms through and over my head. She ties and snaps the huge ruff while I adjust my microphone. The cast is singing “Once long ago blah.” There are two verses. Sometimes the quick change goes swiftly, sometimes not. I get tangled up or can’t find the arm holes or some damn thing. Sometimes I make it back on to the stage for the whole second verse, sometimes barely in time for “Amen.” But Jessie and I haven’t missed the cue yet!

I go out there to christen the baby. Father Martin has a little alter boy (stop that snickering) who stands by me holding the bowl of water. Monday – Wednesday it is Noah Gross. Thursday – Saturday it is Eli Nissley. One performance this summer I was speaking and heard a clang, saw the Colonists (who are seated with their backs to the audience) all crack up and knew that Eli had dropped the bowl. But he picked it up and we just went forward. Another night the AT who pre-sets the bowl was out sick so there was no bowl. Eli freaked out. There was nothing to do but go out and christen the baby with no water. Of course that was the night that Lindsey’s husband Steve, who is a real priest, watched the show and I got no end of grief from him about it. What was I supposed to have done? Spit on the baby? Steve said yes I should have.

As soon as I have done that I go back behind the cabin to loose the white cassock and Jessica snaps and ties the black one and I go back out for Christening Dance. Most of the Company joins in but I don’t. I stand with Chris Tedrow who is the Tin Man meaning he is wearing some armor and will shortly be brutally killed. He and I laugh and clap and he points out that it is a Blessed Day and I absolutely agree with him.

I stand with him and the Dame during Governor’s Farewell and I say the same ad libs I’ve been saying for nine seasons.

When he leaves it is time for Small Skirmish (which used to be called Little Battle). I stand in front of the chapel with Tin Man and AT Amanda Forstrom. We freeze for Historian blah blah and then the Indians attack. I get the wooden pitchfork from the chapel and bravely wave it around. Three Indians kill poor Tin Man and I run to the front of Father Martin’s Cabin and poke the pitchfork at evil Indian Axle Burtness. AT Kristin Shoffner joins the fray. I fall back onto my bed, feeble old guy that I am, while they tussle. Sometimes he stabs her, sometimes he doesn’t. I flail around on the bed.

What I really am doing on the bed is arranging the bedding, which consists of a very thin mattress and two more layers of fur and blanket. When it gets unrolled during transition it is always a mess. Later in the second act I have to lie on it for ten minutes and if it isn’t arranged right it is very uncomfortable. So I have a few seconds during the skirmish to start to arrange it. I complete my arrangement during Big Battle. So – yes – that’s what I’m really doing during Small Skirmish and Big Battle. I’m trying to arrange the hodgepodge bedding so I’ll be comfortable later.

There is a blackout after the skirmish. I grab my fur coat and exit left into that little area with the steps that lead up to the parapet. I retrieve the knee pads which I stashed there at intermission and sit on the steps to put them on and get myself all arranged and brow mopped while Eleanor and the ladies sing the Lullaby.

When poor old Father Martin re-enters for Yule he is noticeably feeble. Choir member Liz (who is not in the program) sits him on a bench and wishes him a Peaceful Yule. We have a moment generally about taking some shots behind the cabin later.

Back in the 90s the Yule log was much bigger and daughter Alice rode on it for several years. Now it is smaller. They place it center stage. I get a torch from T.J. and light it. Yes – they let me play with fire! It is pre-loaded with kerosene-soaked stuff so I never have any trouble lighting it although one windy night it was a close thing.

When Father Martin starts “Sing Oh Heavens and Be Joyful Oh Earth” he falls face first into the sand center stage (knee pads). A couple of the boys pick me up by my arms and carry me to my cabin and lay me on the bed. One of them is Panther and – shame on me – I have no idea who the other one is. This is where the Dame gives a clue to Panther as to the nature of my distress. He almost always figures it out and I hear him pass the word to others while Eleanor is going on about “Zion” and “Her waste places” (which I think is a bit offensive).

Big Battle starts with Ananias (Sam Kinsman) getting the arrow in the chest. It has almost always been done that way. In fact I may be the only Ananias who didn’t get the arrow in the chest. When I played him in 1999 I was very active in the Battle, shooting off guns and running around and fighting Indians. Near the end evil Wanchese picked up a shotgun from a fallen Colonist and aimed it at John Borden. I bravely stepped in front of Borden and took the shot in my guts, then staggered all the way down stage, gurgling “Blah!” and keeled over in the sand. At the end of the Battle John Borden (who was played by Brandon Smiley that year) carried me off in his arms. Sniff.

When the Battle starts this year Tshombe Selby runs into the cabin and tells me to get up, the Indians are here. Tshombe is a local guy who graduated from Manteo High the same year Alice did. He is a power tenor and leads most of the songs.

Then Panther staggers into the cabin with an arrow in his leg and collapses by the wall. T.J. Pass runs in, tells me to lie down and goes to help Panther. Hillary Wright and Liz bring injured Ross Neal into the cabin and put him on the bed. The cabin (back of the stage left prop cabin) blows up. There are flames and smoke! Gary Gatling jumps out of the window and Hillary puts him on the bed, too. He keeps going on about us needing to save his wife but we remind him that he doesn’t have a wife. There are gunshots and Ross and Gary run out of the cabin. Hillary consoles Panther while I stagger around (arranging the bedding). I collapse on the left wall until Hillary comes to save me, and here it is folks – the longest moment I have in the show this year with another person. I’ve been going on in this recitation about my nightly track about the dozens of moments we all have in the show. Most of them are very brief. My longest moment this year is during Big Battle with Hillary.

Hillary Wright turned 19 this summer. She and her family have been involved with the show in one way or another for a long time. Hillary’s sister Kelsey is in the show too as a child. Hillary started as a child when she was eight years old and has been in the show every year except one since then. She spent the last three years as an intern and this is her first year as a full fledged AT. She (and her family) is all that is good and enduring about The Lost Colony. When I go on and on about my family’s history with the show in the past I can point at the Wrights and say “It lives.”

So Hillary and I scream and yell “Blah!” while the Battle rages. Lately we’ve been throwing up on each other. We chat, make rude comments, and she holds me up when my feebleness overcomes me. We think the Battle is way too long, but that’s just because we have to stand there and watch it every night. Sometimes we are on Manteo’s side, sometimes we root for Wanchese.

Eventually it ends. Hillary goes off to help the fallen in the sand. I stagger towards center, pausing to throw up or pass my disease of the night to Panther. Poor Farmer in the Dell Travis Clark is lying dead in front of the chapel and Old Tom and I kneel over him and make lewd and rude comments before I stagger off stage.

I've been writing this since 2 o'clock this afternoon and haven't even made it through the second act. And now its time to go do the thing. I'll try to finish up tomorrow.

My Track part 2

At the very beginning of this year’s big show I enter with The Historian (Brendan Ragan) and two Red Soldiers (Willem Krumich & Colin Thelen). We march the handcuffed Historian down the Queen’s Path to the jetty where he is to be beheaded (the audience has no clue what is going on). The priest (me) mutters some nonsense (I am not on mic so it doesn’t matter what I say). Usually it is “lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil,” but if I’m bored or not really there I say gibberish. Brendan gives me a forlorn look as I bless him. Then the Soldiers and I march out, leaving him to start the Prologue. This is the only moment in the show that I share with Brendan.

As soon as I exit I walk all the way around the backstage and up to the side gate that leads into the breezeway, where I sit during the first part of Indian Dance. There are six or eight Red Soldiers, Simon Fernando and Governor White and myself waiting there to enter. Most nights there are late comers to the audience who need to get to their seats but are held there by the house staff. Often these groups come hurrying up and screech to a halt when they see all of these well armed costumed characters blocking the way. Kids especially are slack jawed.

The dancers freeze while the Historian intones “In the time of Queen Elizabeth the first many blah blah,” and when the dance resumes we enter and sneak down the aisles, the Soldiers aiming their rifles at the stage. We always get some startled reactions as the audience notices us.

At the gunshot we storm down the rest of the steps to the stage. Well, I don’t storm. Father Martin holds his cassock up and sort of skips down the steps.

As we confront the Indians I generally have a brief moment with Michael Murray (Simon).  We sometimes confer about which of the Indian women we want to claim, or I ask him if he is my mother, or some random nonsense. It is very brief. Then I move up the steps to see what Governor White (Terry Snead) is doing. I glace at his sketching and compliment him on his caricatures. Look! It’s Goofy! When the Soldiers bring up the trunk of baubles Terry helpfully informs me that it is a trunk of baubles. I never fail to be surprised at this revelation. There are about four times during the scene where the tension grows great and Soldiers and Indians threaten each other, rifles and spears point to point. I make general guttural “Wait! Hold” noises, flapping my arms wildly, my bible clutched in my downstage hand.

Amadas and Wingina sort things out, shake hands, and we are invited into the village. We stick very close to the periphery because the Indians resume the dance and if you get too close they run into you. I share a couple of brief moments with Red Soldiers Chris Tedrow, Austin Dolan (who is my understudy), Jamie Schor and Thad Walker. These are also verbal gibberish but the feeling conveyed is “Wow, look at them dance,” and of course we indicate our preferences as to which of the scantily clad Indian girls we are going to carry away as conqueror’s booty. Ashley Herndon is the one dancing so close that she almost knocks us over so she is of course a popular choice.  Thad and Jamie and I are then entertained by Axle Burtness who tries to get us to join in singing “Hey Ya!” We are delighted and amused.

Freeze. Historian says “Blah blah,” and we exit. I am the closest to the stage right wings and squeeze past the hut and scurry out first, using my rear view to watch out for the thirty or so other people also exiting, many carrying totems, huts, and assorted props.

I’m not on again until the end of the Plymouth scene. I go into the dressing room and shed my cassock. This leaves me in a black tee shirt, black tights, and a pair of black basketball shorts.

(At the beginning of the season we all were just going outside in our tights but it was decreed that we had to have something more than that, hence the shorts.)

I go up to the smoking section for the nightly meeting of the Ten of Nine Society. This consists of myself, pyro goddess Stephanie Sexton, Sharkbait (Rob Jenkins), Troy Folkner, and Jimmy Lee Brooks, who joins us after he watches the Pavanne dance. We are usually joined by Joe Veale. He is a Dancer and understudies Uppowoc. Lee, as dance captain, sits out to watch the show every now and then and Joe goes on for him. The first time this happened Joe was told that part of Uppowoc’s track was to go to the smoking area for Queen’s Garden, and has been joining us ever since. Other people wander in now and then and sometimes we even get some of the house staff join us. At the start of the season there was contention about the name of our group. Some wanted to call it the Midnight Society, but I persistently pointed out that it wasn’t midnight, it was only ten minutes of nine, so we became the Ten of Nine Society. We smoke and shoot the shit.

When that breaks up at the start of Crossover I go back to the dressing room to hang out. The guys who were in Queen’s Garden come in and we all get ready for Plymouth and make fun of the dialogue on stage, which we hear through the monitor. Our favorite line is Eleanor’s when she says of John Borden: “He leads the men, and…” In most years Borden cuts her off, but this year the “and…” just hangs there for a few seconds. We suspect that there is Acting going on, but it drives us wild.

“And…” what? What? We fill in the blank, usually with something obscene, unlikely, or anatomically impossible.

I exit the dressing room as Old Tom is getting the shit kicked out of him by Dame Coleman at the end of his mini-scene with Sir Walter. The poor guy gets beat up a lot this year, first at the end of the tavern scene by The Landlord (Paul Major) who wails on him. The reason for this is to kill time while the Red Soldiers are madly getting their armor on.

During Ralph Lane and the first part of Plymouth I sit on the benches and wait. Monday – Wednesday I’m over by the women’s dressing room and chat with The Queen (Lynda Clark) when she comes out of the dressing room having shed her fifty pound dress. She calls it the Buick. Thursday – Saturday I generally sit on a bench canter with Melissa Rock and Valerie Medlin. They are Official Moms and their job is to gossip, make lewd comments about the Indian boys, and occasionally make sure the Colonist Children are dressed and ready for their scenes.

Meanwhile on stage John Borden is facing down Simon Fernando. When he taunts the pilot by saying he is “a Spaniard with a Spanish name!” the fight begins.

I put on my massive black fur coat and make my way to join Raleigh’s party which consists of Raleigh, The Governor, Ananias, Eleanor, myself, Manteo and Wanchese, and a Red Soldier who carries the Sign and Symbol from The Queen. We enter down the Queen’s Path, all except Raleigh go down the steps stage left and cross in front of the stage and up the steps on the other side stage right. The others cross in front of me and I park myself by the foot of the ramp and trade pleasantries with Madeline Arthur who is tending one of the carts. She generally confesses to the Father that she has sinned. I forgive her and then she turns right around and covets the Sign and Symbol. I boast that I have twelve of them and might consider making her a gift of one of them if she will consider further sinning (usually this includes spanking).

Then it is “Farewell England” and we scurry up the ramp to sail for the new world.

Believe it or not I don’t smoke at intermission. I lose the massive fur coat and top part of my costume. Sometimes I give myself an extra dousing of bug spray if the mosquitoes are especially ravenous. I get my knee pads and take them over to stage left where I stash them under the steps that lead to the parapet. Then back to the dressing room where I put on my microphone. My old mic gave up the ghost a couple of weeks ago and now I share a mic with Chris Kiley (Master of the Queen’s Ceremonies). I miss my old mic.

Thus sprayed, pre-set and ready for amplification I go hang out on the benches. Sometimes there is more of the Moms, but always I go hang out with Lindsey McKee.

Let me tell you about Lindsey. She plays Dame Coleman and is my best friend in the show this summer. We connected early on in rehearsals. We are of similar age (50s), and represent the Very Married Forever demographic. She and her husband Steve are married 28 years and Lisa and I are celebrating 30 years next month. Lindsey and Steve have a 25 year old daughter and I have one of those as well. Steve is an Episcopal minister in Tulsa Oklahoma and I am an Episcopal vestryman at my home church in Southern Pines, so we have that in common too. I sometimes call Lindsey “The Vicar’s Wife.” She is a power soprano of operatic quality that is mostly wasted in The Lost Colony. She has connected with local churches and visits some of them to sing.  She did so last Sunday and when we all did the Full Moon thing Sunday night and the place was empty late (9 o’clock) I cajoled her into singing The Lord’s Prayer in full power voice. The walls shook and the staff was a bit alarmed but it was beautiful (and somehow erotic.) Back at July 4^th when we sat outside watching the fireworks and started singing patriotic songs she led us, backed by Lisa’s alto.

Early in the summer Lindsey and I agreed that walking on the beach would be fun but that never really happened because, first, the arthritis in my knees has been bad all summer and I can’t walk like I used to and, second, Lindsey goes walking at like 8 o’clock in the morning when all decent Colonists are still asleep. So that was a bust, but we still hang out being middle aged and Very Married, kind of a mutual defense pact amid the hormone storm that is the majority of the 20-somethings. Her husband Steve has been here a couple of times, as has Lisa, and we hang out. Lisa of course has ten years in the show and knows the score, but Steve gets that what-the-hell? look that outsiders get when exposed to the Colony Company and their conversation. It’s all good.

But I digress…

So I go hang out with Lindsey during intermission. We generally discuss what Father Martin’s ailment is going to be that night. If it is very hot we talk about that of course. It being Lindsey’s first year she is adamant about the need to air condition the dressing rooms. I nod and smile and absolutely agree with her while knowing that it will never happen.

When we started the run we had 20 minute intermissions but now we are down to 15. This limits bench-chatting time and before we know it Costumer Jennifer Mohrman is lurking around and when we get the 5 minute call she marches Lindsey into the dressing room to get ready for act two. I head the other direction.

Up to this point my total time on stage has been about ten minutes and I haven’t uttered a word of scripted dialogue.

Rituals

Last night when I exited stage right after mic check I found an Indian maiden using her finger to inscribe the numeral 10 in the sand in the wings. She traced the number 10 times.

Yup – it’s that time. We’re in the countdown of the final ten shows. We’re all performing our little rituals.

I told you about my little leather bag of sand. I performed my ritual of emptying the old sand on to the stage the other night. I was joined by the Chief, Bob Midgette, who thinks I’m odd but understands about the magic. We stood there for a few minutes and talked about Heather Vaughn, a Colonist from the early 1990’s who passed away from cancer recently. We couldn’t remember her specifically. You know how that is – “that Dancer,” “the AT with the dark hair and beard,” “what’s her name who was in the Choir.” After so many years they all blend together into a generic Colonist, even if at one time you knew them well. So the Chief and I celebrated Heather even though we couldn’t quite place her. Her essence was in the sand in the bag, and now she is back in the sand forever.

I lifted my heart when, after my entry last week about the sand in the bag, that so many readers confessed in the comments that they too have their little keepsakes from their Colony days. The Dream Still Lives.

Other rituals – it could be that numbers are being discreetly worked in to the designs that the Indians paint on themselves. I wouldn’t know and if I did I certainly wouldn’t tell. I’m just saying….

The biggest ritual comes closing night, of course. The shaving of the beards. Since May I have been looking forward to August 20 at 11:05 pm. I’ve got my clippers all oiled up and ready. I’ve been pretty good at keeping the face trimmed back (not really – too much trouble) but the past couple weeks I’m letting myself go full ZZ Top.

Do you readers have any memories of countdown-to-closing rituals?

Potent Magic

When I came here in May to do the Colony I gathered up random stuff that I thought I would need or want while I was here for the summer, including about a dozen ragged old Company tee shirts, but I forgot one thing. Buried in the back of my sock drawer at home was a little box containing various Lost Colony anniversary medallions. I had Lisa mail it to me in time for Bob Knowles’ memorial service in June. In the box are three medallions, two 50^th Anniversary ones and a 60^th anniversary one.

The 50^th Anniversary medallions were worn by many Colonists in my early years with the show. The 50^th was 1987. I wasn’t in the show until 1992, but received a medallion as an opening night present from Robbie Fearn. The medallions were bronze and cheap - $5 I think, so they were affordable even to underpaid colonists and giving them as gifts was common. They were also available in silver and gold. The medallions were numbered. Mine is # 299. The other 50^th medallion I believe belongs to Lisa.

I also have a medallion from the 60^th anniversary. It is silver. Since one could request a number I got # 299.

Wearing medallions was very common in those days – the 90s. At Bob’s memorial I saw that only David Miller and I were wearing ours.

Along with the medallions in the little box that Lisa mailed to me was something I had forgotten about. A little leather bag with sand in it.

I at times go a little mad in my sentimentality about The Colony. Perhaps you’ve noticed. Here follows a tale of sentimental madness.

We came to The Colony as a family in 1992. Lisa had been there in 91 and I brought the kids to visit, watched the show a few times, and said: “Hey – I could do that.” So we did. I auditioned at locals and landed Old Tom. Lisa was promoted from Joyce to Dame, and the kids were kids. Max was eight and Alice was six. We lived in the Beehive; pretty sweet - a sound front cottage a short walk from the theater.

We did that for two summers. Lisa was bored being Dame and did not return in 1994. I was there by myself with the kids. Then in 1995 Lisa returned mid-summer as The Queen.

So this story takes place in either 1993 or 95 because Lisa was there. I know it wasn’t 92 because my sentimental attachment to the show didn’t happen the first year I was there. It grew on me over the course of time. You don’t really get it if you are only there for a year, it takes time to start to understand the Thing. The history – not only the story we tell but the history of the show; a history play that, in itself, has become a part of history. The thousands of people who have worked on it over the decades. The blood, sweat and tears that have been shed into the sand by those people. And you are linked to those people as surely as if they were family. It is a mighty Thing! You either get that or you don’t.

Also I had fallen in love with being Old Tom. He is probably the best role I have ever had and Waterside Theater is the biggest venue I’ve ever played. I played him for six years and all my life was dedicated to the role. My life revolved around it. What I ate and when I ate it, when and how much I slept. What I allowed myself to imbibe. Everything I did all summer revolved around hitting my peak between 8:30 and 11 every night.

I wanted to save the experience. I wanted to have something that would keep my passion for the show and the role alive in my heart and soul during the endless times between seasons. I wanted some of the Potent Magic of the Colony to carry me through the winter living in the mundane world. I cogitated for some weeks before deciding what to do.

Before the costumes were redesigned in 2007-08 Old Tom wore leather leggings that one would wrap around the legs and tie down. They were an endless bother, between every scene, and sometimes on stage during the scenes, retying the leggings. Because I have skinny legs the leggings wrapped almost twice around my legs. There was lots of excess leather. So one night after the show I cut a small piece out of it.

The costume shop manager that year was Carl Curnutte. Hey Carl! I willfully mutilated my costume. I’m sorry.

I stitched the piece of leather I had pilfered into a small bag and waited to see what I would do with it.

One morning (about noon) Lisa woke me up to tell me that an evacuation had been called because of an approaching hurricane. The big show was cancelled. We hurried to the theater and helped out with a hurricane strike: the lights were removed and placed in the rain shelter bathrooms, most set pieces and props were put in the gazebo or the dressing rooms, and all the costumes were packed into a u-haul truck which was parked at the LCB.

Most of the company evacuated. The Colony had bought out most of a motel in Greenville.

The Bridges didn’t evacuate. I don’t recall what my reasoning was but I decided that we would stay at least until the power went out and then skedaddle if it looked like it was going to be bad. I sent Lisa to the store to buy emergency supplies in case the power went out and we couldn’t leave. She famously brought back bags of microwavable frozen dinners, not realizing that if the power went out we wouldn’t be able to cook them or keep them frozen. Hey, it was her first hurricane.

So we waited. That’s mostly what you do when a hurricane is approaching. You watch the Weather Channel and wait to see what happens. Watching as a storm waxes and wanes in strength, keeping a close eye on the projected track, knowing that just a little shift in the strength or the track means the difference between a rainy windy day and RUN!

So we waited for two days, watching the Weather Channel and eating our microwave dinners. I recall going for a walk with some other Colony souls who didn’t evacuate. Julie Richardson, Steve Winemiller and Neil Ferguson were among them, Max and Alice were with us. We checked in on the theater. The wind was gale force by then. We all walked the parapet. Lisa and I had already descended the ladder and were standing in the sand when we had a heart stopping moment as the wind caught Alice and she almost got blown off the parapet, but she caught herself and we continued our walk. We went along the path that leads from the LCB circle to the west end where the old bridge leads to the mainland. I have a vivid memory of Neil screaming “Flee!” at the cars that were speeding their way to safety.

There were various hurricane parties that we attended but mostly we hung out at the Beehive.

When the storm made landfall it hit below the northern Outer Banks and tracked inland to our west. We only got the edge of it, a lot of wind and not even a lot of rain. Ironically its inland track took it over Greenville and the Colonists in the motel lost the power and suffered the brunt of the heavy rain, flooding and wind damage. We continued to sit in the Beehive watching TV and microwaving our food.

It was at about 2 am when the wind was at its highest that I took my little leather bag I had fashioned from my costume and walked to the theater. I was by myself because Lisa thought I was crazy. Not so – just high as a kite, which I guess can qualify as crazy.

I went to the stage and sat in the sand for awhile in the pitch dark and howling wind. I filled my little leather bag with on ounce or two of sand from the stage.

The sand from the stage - Potent Magic.

You will recall that at strike every year the sand gets boxed up in a makeshift plywood enclosure where it sits all winter and in the spring it is released, spread out and replenished with fresh sand. But it is the same sand. The sweat of everyone who has spent a summer doing the pageant is in that sand, along with all the passion and soul of The Lost Colony. All the generations of the Company are in that sand and every year the new members of the Company add a bit of their souls to it. If you’ve been in that sand a part of you is there.

I closed the bag with a bit of leather and hung it on a string and I wore it, along with my 50^th Anniversary medallion, every day through the endless mundane fall, winter and spring. When the foolishness of life crowded in on me I would touch it and roll it between my fingers, feeling the Potent Magic of the sand crunching inside.

Near the start of the following summer’s run I emptied the sand back onto the stage to mingle with the new Company, to be recharged by the love and work and dedication that would take place. At the end of the summer I refilled the bag, retied the strap, and hung it back around my neck.

Seasons come and go, cycles turn and time moves on. The Bridges ended their run at The Colony with the 1997 season. I was done, done, done with Old Tom. Six years as him was enough. A new director came in and Lisa got the ax. Only Max continued in 98 as a props assistant. The following year I got called in to play Ananias. I don’t think I did the sand in the bag thing that year. That season is not good in my memory.

But, again, cycles turn. Lisa came back for another four years with Terry Mann as director and I played Governor White in 2003. I definitely performed my little ritual of adding the sand back to the stage and refilling it at the end, although I was a little embarrassed by it.

The kids grew up and went their ways. Lisa and I moved away from Manteo. The little box with the medallions and the leather bag of sand were lost in the back of my sock drawer until I had Lisa dig it out and mail it to me a couple months ago.

Finding the bag brought memories and passions crashing back at me. In a way it frightened me, I have left it in the box on the shelf all summer, wondering if I could write about it, if I could revisit those glory days of The Bridge Family in The Lost Colony, if I could withstand the passions that caused me to mutilate Old Tom’s costume and make my way to the theater in the howling wind to capture some of the Potent Magic that signified that time of my life.

Tonight after the big show is the Dance Concert in the Gazebo. I’m taking the bag with me and after the concert I’m going to empty it in the sand on the stage, letting all the souls of all the generations join with the present, and on closing night I’ll fill it again so that I can take the Potent Magic with me when I rejoin the world.

Illness of the Night

A few days ago we realized that we had only 24 performances to go and decided to do a Father Martin Illness-of-the-Night Alphabetical Countdown.

Yes, yes, YES! We know that there are 26 letters in the alphabet. We’re just a little addled from the heat.

Y’see – during the second act Father Martin gets ill and falls down during Yule and continues to deteriorate for the rest of the show. His illness is never specified so we supply the subtext each evening. He has had a wide variety of complaints this summer, most of them grotesque and of a blatantly sexual nature (or gastric – sex and shit are the foundations of Comedy).

So anyway we started the alphabetical countdown on Monday. The Illness-of-the-Night Committee consists of me, Lindsey Lou McKee (Dame Coleman), Pyro Stephanie, Michael Murray (The Good Pilot Fernando), and whoever happens to wander by.

Monday the Father had Anthrax (at least that’s what we think the white powder was).

“B” was a hotly debated letter on Tuesday. Entries included Botulism and Bronchitis, but I ended up with a Broken Heart. Poor Father Martin will never love again.

Wednesday I was afflicted with Carbuncles, a nasty skin disease common in the 16^th century involving oozing pustules.

Last night we considered Delirium Tremens, Diphtheria, and visiting alum Clark Nicholson helpfully suggested Dropsy. But the good Father just ended up Drunk.

Tonight it was Epididymitis, which I actually had a few years ago. It was a rare treat.

Any suggestions for our countdown?

Heat 'n Deet

What to say about doing the pageant when the heat index is 102 at intermission?

It really sucks, that what we say. But we do it. It just becomes this endurance test.

We were on Heat Protocol 2 this evening. All hats, coats, capes, gloves, furs, extra petticoats, etc. were cut. It gives the company this half-dressed look.

It is an endurance test for the audience as well. The mosquitoes were on Feasting Mode.  Clouds of Deet-based insect repellent drifted through the house as well as back stage.

I remember in the years I played Old Tom, before they ripped the theater apart to put in the stadium seating (1998), when there was a decades old shrub between the Queen’s Stage and the audience with a carefully maintained hole in it that the audience couldn’t see. At the end of the Tavern scene Old Tom would jump into the hole and lie there all through Queen’s Garden and Crossover; so long, in fact, that the audience would forget he was in there and be surprised when he jumped up at the second volley of fireworks.

I would lie in those bushes for the twenty or so minutes of the scenes and listen to what the audience (just about three feet away) were saying about the show.

On high heat nights like tonight their talk was al about the heat and how it was affecting the actors.

“Oh, look at the sweat dripping off the Queen’s nose,” they would say.

“I don’t know how they stand it.”

“I bet they’re about to pass out.”

Etc.

See, they’re not watching the show, they’re watching the endurance test.

I also remember when the house staff would pass out “Lost Colony Air Conditioners” to the audience. These were little white cardboard fans on a popsicle stick with the Swirly Girl logo on them. On hot nights when you looked out at the audience you would see hundreds of them fluttering. Hundreds, say we? Nay, thousands!

I’ve lost a solid 10 pounds this summer. Hooray for me! But on nights like this one I lose more. Every evening before I go to work I weigh myself naked (just picture it!) and I weigh 162. Every night when I come home from the show I weigh myself again and I am consistently 159.

Tonight I was 157.

Some Video

I took a video camera backstage. Obviously I need to figure out the "zoom" feature!

I can't tell if this is working or not because my internet provider is Charter and it sucks big time. Probably the least reliable utility I have ever paid too much for.

Let me know if it plays for you.

Press "Play."

We’ve reached that point in the run where it doesn’t matter if we’re paying attention to doing the pageant or not. We just do it.

Press “Play” and we do it.

Rain, wind, lightning, heat, humidity, insects, smoke, love, hate, sex, jealousy, indifference, PTW, path, kid’s shows, what-the-hell-am-I-going-to –do after-August 20, my-dog-died, my mom’s sick, I’m broke; the smells coming from: the giant septic gizmo behind the women’s dressing room, the women’s dressing room! Eau de colony (bug spray), the MEN’s dressing room! The smells from each other and of course ourselves.

A dancer hurts herself in the Plymouth dance and an ambulance comes to pick her up? Keep going.

Press “Play” and we do it.

It starts – goes – ends.

You’re not thinking about what you’re doing or saying? It doesn’t matter – you do it and say it without paying attention. We run on pure muscle memory.

This is my routine. This is my track. I do THIS right now, I talk with whosis for ten seconds at THIS point in the show. I catch a cig with THESE people every night at the same time. I sit on the bench and flirt with THIS person during Ralph Lane, I have a hard drink from the water fountain now, now, now and NOW. What are you doing sitting there – this is MY spot for these three minutes.

You’ve hurt your back/neck/ankle? Forget it. We do it. You’ve got a cold, a stomach virus, a broken heart? You do it. You cut the end of a finger off – OK – one night off. Bandage that sucker and do the pageant.

Rain delays? Don’t want them. At 8:30 press “Play” and move that mother through until it ends at 11.

You’re miffed with yourself because you’re having trouble focusing and are just going through the motions? Forget it, it doesn’t matter. Your motions are just as good as the real thing. OK then try to focus – yes – and suddenly you’re walking off stage and realize you were a thousand miles away. Time to cry? You cry. No real emotion or thought required, it just happens.

You have family/friends in town – great. Sorry – my routine doesn’t vary. I sleep till this hour, I do this in the afternoon, I eat supper at this time.

The crushing heat we’re experiencing? All we ask for is a breeze.

We hear the show through the monitors in the dressing rooms and backstage. It is the soundtrack of our evening. We don’t really listen to it unless something different happens. Whups! The Queen’s microphone is out. Old Tom’s mic is intermittent. Sing out, Louise! I don’t notice the dialogue unless something is askew. It is bizarre. “Hey he said ‘great’ instead of ‘mighty.’” “Why is he pausing? What’s going on?” It is so strange – I know the lines so well that I don’t hear them – I only hear mistakes!

Whoa! Something is wrong with the sound system and the pre-show announcements are speeded up almost to Alvin & The Chipmunks level? Oh well – places please and hope that the music is normal. Got that back-up CD?

We know which part of the week it is by which group of kids are in the show. It’s Ian! Must be Thursday!

There was some talk the other night about “virgins” and one of them pointed out that the whole “virgin” thing is over. They’ve been through Slaughter and that’s that. Right?

Wrong, although I didn’t bother to chime in. You ain’t really truly been slaughtered until you’ve been through the entire summer with all of the phases that come with it. And this is one of the phases. Regardless of anything we’re just Doing the Pageant.

Press “Play.”

Nature's Special Effect

There is an owl that lives in the trees over or behind the Queen’s Stage. I’m not sure what kind of owl it is since I’ve only seen it briefly in flight. It is brown and white.

I first noticed it during the rehearsal period in May. It would appear from over the Indian Stage trees and glide perfectly across the very lip of the green and into the Queen’s Stage trees right next to the lighting instruments that are there. It always happened just as the sky was reaching full dark.

I guess the cycle of the sun is back to where it was in May because for the past couple of performances the owl is back. During Amadas and Barlowe, as the English explorers greet and exchange gifts with the natives, as the sky is just shy of full dark, this beautiful owl, wings fully spread, glides through the scene about ten - fifteen feet over the jetty. It swoops directly into the light over the Queen’s Stage.

It is a perfect moment. The audience must think it is part of the show. But it’s nature’s special effect.

What must this creature think about the lights it dives into? Does the loud music and gunfire alarm it? I wonder if it has young in the nest. Do they miss us on Sundays?

My Track part 1

On a typical show day I wander into the theater at about 7:20. Principal call isn’t until 7:45 but microphone check must be completed by 7:30. Go figure.

When Lisa, Max, Alice and I lived in the Bee Hive in the 90s I would walk up the path behind the Prince House (alas!), through the big parking lot and down the main path to backstage. Later, after we moved here, I generally parked at the Park Ranger building and walked down the other path by the Visitor’s Center. Now I park at the LCB and walk  down the side path that goes through the woods. Variety is good.

I wave at asst. stage manager Simmons Falk on my way in to indicate that I’m there. He is parked on the costume shop deck checking off the roll. We don’t have a gatekeeper anymore. Then I walk through the men’s dressing room and into the scene shop which is part of the same building, across from the stage right props cabin. Sound Engineer Kevin Nissley is generally in there farting around with the mic packs and he’s usually the first person I say “Hey” to. Kevin is a local and was brought in at the last minute to take the job when we had the great quitting/firing/WTF upheaval of the sound department during the rehearsal period. I didn’t tell you about that? Oh well…

Often while I’m putting on my mic pack Pyro Goddess Stephanie Sexton (Just Friends!) will be in there loading shells in to the live shotguns we use in the show. I give her a polite, friendly greeting. “Always be polite and friendly to women with shotguns” is one of my mottos of life.

From there I proceed on to the stage. The Actor Techs have already set up the stage for the first act. I walk in to the sand beside an Indian hut and cross to center on the top of the Green (because the sand has already been raked). Stand on the jetty. Up in the sound booth at the top of the hill I get the “Whenever you’re ready!” from the board operator who is also named Stephanie but I don’t know her last name because she isn’t in the program due to the previously mentioned coming-in-at-the-last-minute-sound-department snafu. We have to do our mic checks at full show volume. I warm up by coughing a big smoker’s loogie and cut loose:

“ALMIGHTY GOD OUR FATHER – WE THANK THEE FOR THY MERCY AND COMPASSION ON US. YEAH! IN THY GREAT WISDOM…”

“Thank you,” says Stephanie, and I’m done.

I head in to the dressing room, turn off my mic and park it on the little 2x4 beam above the dressing table. I don’t speak in Act I and don’t put the mic on until intermission. I check my costume pieces (“that, that, that, that, that, shoes, hats”)

That’s how I start my show day on Tuesday – Saturday. On Monday we have full fight call at 6:15. On Mondays I arrive, wave at Simmons and go in to the house and hang out until everyone is there. I usually shoot the shit with Robert Midgette while we wait. I still call him “Chief.” This dates from my early years in the show when I was Old Tom and he was Chief Manteo.  Every night during Christening Dance he and I would have a few seconds of time to chat and Old Tom always greeted him as “Chief.” It stuck.

The Dancers have warm-up at 6:00 and then wander in to fight call when they are done and we proceed. The Chief gives us notes or a pep talk, as does asst. fight director Jimmy Lee Brooks. Then we run Big Battle followed by Small Skirmish, which used to be called Little Battle, which is why Big Battle is called Big Battle (as opposed to Little Battle) but now Little Battle is called Small Skirmish. I don’t know why. Alliteration? Probably.

When those two fights are done I sit in the house while they run the Borden/Simon fight that’s part of Plymouth. I always watch this because I’m offstage at that point in the show and don’t ever get to see it. It really is well done. I recall years ago (under a different fight director) when it was so over-choreographed and long that it became unbelievable and frankly tedious. But now the Chief has it just right.

When they proceed to running the Ralph Lane Massacre I head into the scene shop to get my mic and do mic check at about 6:45. Ditch my mic in the dressing room and usually leave for an hour because I have nothing to do. I always tell Simmons that I’m leaving the premises and will check back in before 7:45. I go home. There’s nothing to do there either but it beats hanging out backstage for an hour.

Either way I end up at about 7:40-ish hanging out backstage. I read the Company Notes (“don’t clump up - spread out!”) and check for anything concerning me in all the other stuff posted there. There’s never anything concerning me.

I chat with random people, hang out in the Miss Laura Long Smoking Lounge (so named in honor of Laura, although she never sets foot there), wander backstage, sometimes I’ll go up the stage left wooden path into the breezeways and people-watch (which is against the rules but that’s the kind of rebel I am). Often I’ll shoot the shit with Juliet Eden, who is from my other life in Moore County NC. She is a dancer and gets painted early. We chat about this and that and what’s coming up in the theater world for each of us when the summer ends. Three nights a week she dashes off for Path Activities which this year has been scaled back tremendously and consists of random Indians operating giant puppets and generally harassing the audience on their way down the path. Path activities are mandatory and there is no extra money in it and it is greatly loathed by those who are required to participate.

I usually lean against the rail and kill zombies for awhile. Back to the smoking area. Kill zombies.

If it is late in the week I get to talk with Valerie Chappel Medlin. The children in the show work a split week, one group Monday-Tuesday-Wednesday, and the other group Thursday-Friday-Saturday. Valerie’s daughter Kate is in the second group.

Valerie came to the Colony my first year as Old Tom (1992) as a dancer. At Slaughter that year she twirled and twirled and was dubbed The Slaughter Princess. The following year we had Brendan Medlin in the show as goofy Ananias (later he would be John Borden). He met Val and it was True Love. I attended their wedding in the Elizabethan Gardens one spring and later that summer Val was put on “light duty” which meant she wasn’t in Indian Dance. It wasn’t until the season ended that we learned that she was pregnant and there were worries that constant exposure to Indian paint could be damaging to her little guest. Bren and Val’s son Shep was born a few months later. Conceived in Morrison Grove!

Now Val is a Colony child wrangler. She and Melissa (last name unknown – if you’re not in the program I’m clueless although she said to me a couple of weeks ago “I just realized that you had that toy store where I spent all that money on Beanie Babies!” and I said “Thanks for the money!”) Melissa and Val sit on the benches backstage and make sure the children are dressed and where they are supposed to be and generally gossip and make lewd comments about the buff male Indians.

But I digress…

So I get to hang out with Val if it is the second half of the week.

At 8:10 I head into the dressing room.

Apparently there is a show and I’m in it and have to get ready.

The Zombies Ate My Brains

There is plenty of time to kill backstage. Louis Butelli (our first Old Tom of the season-now departed and replaced by alumnus Brian Rooney) introduced us to a massive time wasting game we play on our phones. “Plants vs Zombies” it is called and I have wasted enormous amounts of time on this game. I’m not a gamer, either, never really have been. But now I am addicted. The zombies attempt to invade your house and you buy plants which repel them. Fail to kill them and they get into your house and eat your brains.

So everywhere you go back stage people are hunched over their phones killing zombies. When we have a rain delay most of the guys in my dressing room are playing it. I have to admit that my playing this game is not confined to back stage. I play it at home, too. It is a major reason I haven’t been writing as much as I should.

The night before last we had The Heat. You know – the crushing, energy-sapping, sweat-drenched Heat. Technically it was only 85 degrees but the humidity was near 90% and there was not a breath of wind. When we went in we sat huddled in the shady areas and just sweated. Then – into the sweat lodge dressing rooms and into costume. Joy. Once the sun went down and the dressing room temperatures went down I found myself hanging out there because there are fans – a breeze! – in the dressing rooms.

Brendon Ragan plays The Historian and Sir Walter. We make our Prologue entrance from the Queen’s Path. I remember during the first dress rehearsal, a million years ago, he complained how hot he was. He is fully dressed in Raleigh’s costume and then wears a massive robe over that as Historian. During that dress rehearsal it was all of 75 degrees and low humidity. When he complained that he was hot I said: “Just wait. We’ll be wishing for this weather soon.”

I reminded him of that conversation two nights ago as we waited to go on, sweat already so heavy that I was soaked through. He just gave me a look. One of the Red Soldiers who is with us – leather uniform, armor, helmet, hair plastered and dripping, just nodded wearily.

It was the kind of night where you could see great clouds of humidity drifting in the stage lights. Ice chests with rags were deployed on both side of the stage. Some Principals had ice packs strapped on under their costumes.

Oh – and mosquitoes just love hot humid weather.

Last night was a relief. It was still humid but overcast skies lept the heat down and there was a light intermittent wind. It’s funny – when a breeze comes up everyone on stage cheats to put their faces in to the wind.

The clouds and breeze heralded a “cold” front that came through early this morning and today is a beautiful day; temps in the high 70s and a 15 mph wind from the northeast. Perfect weather for a pageant!

Of course we are all glued to the Weather Channel (and it’s derivatives on the net). I used to call The Weather Channel “The Oracle” because we plan our lives around the information it bestows on us.

The Oracle says we are in for at least a few days of nice weather.

Well – gotta go. These zombies aren’t going to kill themselves, y’know.

A Weepy Mess

I know you are all on the edge of your seats waiting to find out if I still fall apart into a weepy mess during Final March.

Of course as time goes on and doing the pageant becomes rote muscle memory it is difficult to keep up the committed emotional level necessary. Sometimes it is there when I need it and sometimes it isn’t. If it isn’t there I fake it even though I’m really thinking about how the thing is almost over and within fifteen minutes I’ll be at home shedding my sweat-soaked underwear, jumping in the shower, and popping open a cold one.

But sometimes…

The other night I was delighted that backstage I found Jimmy Darmo. Jimmy was Father Martin for years during the 1990s and is one of my role models for the part. He is the same – a little older, a little grayer – but then who isn’t? He was sitting chatting with the eternal Miss Laura Long when I spotted him. Hearty greetings ensued. In the middle of that up walks Gina Hays who was first an assistant stage manager and later the big boss stage manager during the Terry Mann years 2001 – 05. More hearty greetings followed, introductions were made. We visited for awhile until it was time for me to get dressed and them to go into the audience.

Press “Play” and we do the pageant.

During my cabin time – from Pot Scene through Small Assembly, Parapet into Large Assembly I lie on my sick bed and try to hold still, ignoring the sweat pouring down my face and the mosquitoes chomping on me – I have lots of time to think.

I was thinking about Jimmy and Gina. Jimmy only knows me as Old Tom from the 90s. Gina only knows me as Governor White from 2003. They had never met before but they are linked through their mutual experience at The Colony.

And that got to me. Jimmy and Gina’s presence sent me into time travel mode, remembering all the people I knew and loved over the years, so many of them never seen again. And even the people I was indifferent to, mostly forgotten. “The guy with the dark hair and the beard.” “That Dancer girl.” “What’s-her-name in the Choir.”

And that night during Final March I totally lost it as the ghosts crowded in on me. The sweat rolling down my face was mixed with tears.

But sweat is dirty, and tears are clean.

 Gina Hays, Laura Long and Jimmy Darmo.

Pole Jokes

No, not the ethnic kind of Pole jokes...

So the scenery for the Plymouth scene is supported in part by these enormous metal poles that fit into slots in the deck. During the intermission scene change the poles are struck along with the rest of the set.

Except that the other night the pole in front of Eleanor’s cabin was stuck. The tech crew and ATs spent an extra ten minutes trying to get the mother out of the slot while we held the show. No go.

So we did the second act with this fifteen foot tall metal pole on stage.

How many pole jokes do you think can be made on stage without breaking character?

A lot, that’s how many. Even Father Martin’s Illness of the Day was influenced. Something to do with poles and holes and being stuck and….well, you get the picture.

Storms

Our show cancellation count stands at four. Early in the season we had two days of cancellation because of the smoke from the wildfire nearby at Stumpy Point. That fire has been fully contained and is mostly extinguished (underground peat still smolders but recent rain has mostly put it out). We still get some smoke from a fire way south of us but it is not that bad.

We had one full rain out about three weeks ago. That storm was so enduring that we didn’t even get into costume, we just sat around and waited for them to call it.

It has been a very dry spring and early summer here and we are (or were) under extreme drought conditions. But for the past few days there has been a system feeding warm moist air coming up the coast from the Gulf and we’ve been having tremendous storms with torrential rain daily.

Two nights ago we all got into costume, Indians fully painted. All was set to go. Five minutes, please! Then a brief hold was announced so that the sound system could be re-booted (huge trouble with the sound equipment this year).

You know what it is like when storms are approaching and the wind kicks up and the light show with air-to-air lightning and the air-to-ground lightning hitting the water. We all watched that while we waited. There were oohs and ahhs when it stuck nearby and those who are afraid of lightning (like me) stayed near to cover.

Ten minutes after we should have started they called a hold for weather and we all retreated to the dressing rooms. Well, not all of us – when a weather hold is called the most of the sound equipment must be struck. Also much of the pyro. Because of lightning the main light towers are powered down.

I suppose in the early decades of The Lost Colony they just waited to see if the rain would pass. When I started in 1992 those in charge would phone the weather service at the airport to get the official forecast. They had radar!

Nowadays we all sit in the dressing rooms and look at the radar on our smart phones. We trade weather apps. Here’s one that shows real time lightning strikes! We parse the nuance of the storms – if it a drifts a little south it might clear up! There’s a break in the rain in Wanchese!

We sat there in costume for thirty minutes and they called the show. We made our way to the parking lot in the drizzle with lightning crashing nearby. It actually seemed to be clearing up!

But no – about twenty minutes later all hell broke loose with heavy rain, scary lightning and thunder booms and the wind blowing so hard that the rain was going sideways. It lasted until nearly midnight.

Then yesterday we had daytime rehearsal. It was muggy enough to cut with a knife. We broke at about three o’clock just in time for more major storms and heavy rain. Fight call was cancelled, but the storms stayed to our south and we went through the show with no stops.

It was a humid wet muck of a show.

The storms continue to funnel up the coast this evening. We'll see.

The Maw

My apologies for my hiatus from posting here. I've had lots of friends - and Lisa! - visiting lately. Funny how when you live at the beach you suddenly discover how many friends you have.

We’re in the vast gaping maw of July.

The season at The Lost Colony can be divided into three parts.

At the beginning there is rehearsal and getting acquainted. Life at The Grove settles in – who-hates-their-roommate – early summer romances commence. Rehearsal work is all-consuming and exhausting. The show opens on adrenalin, everyone is sharp-focused and excited to be going to The New World every night.

In August the awareness begins that the monster will end. The days are counted down. Post-Colony lives are discussed and worried over. The weekly theme parties at The Grove are semi-forced and summer-long repressed romantic attractions are suddenly acted upon because soon it will be Goodbye.

In between is July.

We do the Show nightly but it is very rote. We’re not excited about it anymore. It is just our job. This is not to say that we aren’t putting on a good show. We are. Audience attendance in high season is way up. It does give one a little kick to peer through the bushes before we start and see Waterside Theater nearly full. But half of the kids are hung over. Many of them have part time jobs and are exhausted. The PTW Monster is in full swing (more on that later) which keeps many of the company rehearsing until two or three in the morning. Things in The Grove are changing. Some early romances have faded and the July Jump is ongoing. Change partners!

As is traditional we had the 4^th of July off. Since the 4^th was a Monday this year we had two days off in a row. The fireworks in Manteo went on despite the drought conditions and they didn’t even set the marsh on fire! Most of the Company was in downtown or at Festival Park, here and there in little clumps. Lisa was in town and we staked out the side patio area at The Full Moon Café and attracted quite a few Colonists as well as some local friends. When the fireworks started the staff sat out with us as well. We sang patriotic songs led by power soprano Lindsey Lou McKee (Dame Coleman).

Into the yawning rote maw of July here comes The Director! Having him in the audience really snapped people into focus, let me tell you. The show picked up a lot of energy.

The reason Mr. Director is in town is because he is rehearsing in a new Old Tom. This has been planned since the start, we knew it was coming. Louis Butelli has been doing a fine job with the role but is off to another contract. He is being replaced by Brian Rooney who played the role in 2007 and 08. They have been rehearsing during the daytime and it is hot humid midsummer. Good times rehearsing in the noonday sun!

Well – off to extended fight call. The whole battle depends on Father Martin screaming in his cabin!

A mystery Solved

A couple of times I have found white Indian paint on my black cassock, both times in the same place. The discovery leads to frenzied cleaning by Jessica, who is the costumer in charge of male Principals.

But where does the paint come from? Father Martin never comes into contact with Indians onstage, and steers well clear of them backstage.

A mystery. A small one, granted, but hey – it’s late June at the pageant. There are eons to go and anything to occupy our minds.

Tonight I figured it out.

Near the start of Big Battle an evil Indian (Troy Folkner) comes up to Father Martin’s cabin. Stalwart defender Tshombe Selby grabs him and throws him against the wall a couple of times before knocking him back into the sand. Troy does a back flip off the deck into the sand.

A little while later poor feeble Father Martin staggers over and leans on the wall right where Troy has been flung. As I staggered over tonight I looked at the wall and saw a big smear of white Indian paint that Troy had left behind.

Solution: adjust my blocking very slightly, lean against the wall eight inches to the left.

One Goal Achieved

One of my goals this summer was to lose ten pounds. As of tonight the bathroom scale says that I have achieved that goal. Of course the three days of the Hurl & Poop Plague might have helped.
Whatever works!

No Sweat

This evening it was 70 degrees with a brisk wind out of the northeast. As Bob Midgette said at fight call: “It’s November!”

Out came long pants and sweatshirts. I found all my sweats wadded up in the back seat of my car. Nipply Indians backstage and we didn’t even break a sweat doing the show.

But y’know, I think it threw us. It was a fairly lackluster show. You would think we would have been energized but…meh.

I survived the delightful stomach bug I had last weekend. Why today I felt almost normal.

Creeping Crud

A quick entry for those who wonder where I’ve gone to. And thanks for asking.

I’ve also been wondering where I’ve gone and I think that the rush of journal entries during rehearsals and opening and the first couple of weeks constitute Chapter 1. Not that I thought about it in those terms while I was writing about them, but that’s what I’m thinking now.

I have all of these notes for things to write about and make new notes every day, but I think I’m in hesitation mode as to how Chapter 2 begins.

Also there is a new kind of Colony Crud making the rounds of the Company. During rehearsals we all shared a bronchial infection which was exacerbated by the heavy smoke from the wildfire that continues to smolder nearby. Now that affliction has cleared up and there is a new treat; a stomach flu kind of thing. There is a day of fever, yesterday for me; a day of feeling like you’ve been run over by a truck, today for me. Next up: a day of throwing up, followed by a day (or two) of diarrhea. I am of course in denial that I will have to go through the next steps. The only part that worries me is the fact that Father Martin spends all of Pot Scene, Small Assembly, Parapet and Large Assembly lying in his bed on stage. I’m already planning discreet exit strategies if I have an attack of the screaming shits during a quiet moment. The Wise Actor thinks about these things.

Anyway – the early stages of this crud have left me without the motivation to write for the past couple of days.

Thanks for continuing to check in here. I’ll be back for the start of Chapter 2.