The Wind Beneath My Snow Covered Wings

May 4, 2008

I'm walking through an airport late on a sunless afternoon. I pass by a woman crouched on the floor with a litter of beagle puppies. I do not stop, I keep walking, which is very unusual because I always stop for beagles.

Next I pass a young boy in a makeshift bedroom. Apparently the boy is blind because as he rests in bed awaiting his flight to Los Angeles, his faithful guide dog stands at his bedside.

A few minutes later, I find myself seated on a plane on the tarmac at the Los Angeles International Airport. Outside it is dark and snowing.

I begin chatting with the married couple behind me as we nervously wait for the weather to clear. The woman, who turns out to be Bette Midler, asks me which of her records is my favorite. I tell her I'm partial to her concert album, Live At Last.

"Yes, " she responds, "I, too am partial to The Rose."

I look at her husband to make sure that I haven't misunderstood, but he only shrugs his shoulders as if to say, "I know, I know. She only hears what she wants to hear."

an unmarried woman...and me

August 26, 2007

I'm riding in a taxi cab on 57th Street with Jill Clayburgh. We're stuck in traffic in front of the Russian Tea Room. It's a sunny day, but we are bathed in the shadow of a large scaffolding that envelops the Tea Room and the sidewalk in front of it.

I can just make out the trees of Central Park a few blocks North as Jill begins to cry. She's upset about her career, fearing it hasn't turned out the way she had hoped.

"What are you talking about!" I say. "You're JILL CLAYBURGH! An Unmarried Woman...Starting Over. You're a two-time Oscar nominee. And all those great comedies in the 70's. You should be very proud of your career."

We're now in a hotel room overlooking the park. Jill is in a short nightgown covered by a silk robe. We kiss briefly, but somehow it doesn't feel right.

We go out for a walk along what is supposed to be Broadway, but which I actually recognize as the town where I grew up.

We come across a horde of bike riders blocking an intersection. They seem to be holding a demonstration of some sort, but it is decidedly non-violent. In fact, the bikers start to sing The Prayer of St. Francis (Make Me A Channel of Your Peace.)

So beautiful is the singing that Jill and I start to weep quietly in the soft rain that has begun to fall.

Who's Afraid of Community Theatre?

October 4, 2007

It’s twelve o’clock on a bright, sunny Sunday afternoon. I’m riding a bike down a tree lined street. I’m rushing because I’m late for rehearsal for a play in which I’m acting.

I decide to stop at a rundown supermarket for a snack. I order a sandwich from the deli counter, which is in the lower level of this split-level market. As I head out the door with my sandwich, I decide to ride off in a shopping cart and leave my bike behind, thinking this might get me to rehearsal faster.

As I ride through the streets standing on the back of the cart, I have the feeling I’m being followed. I’m terrified I’ll be caught and punished for stealing the cart.

I arrive at a mostly empty school building and wander the darkened hallways, passing by a library and several classrooms until I finally find the theatre.

I’m now on the stage with several actors. I recognize two of them, Helen Mirren and Swoosie Kurtz. At first I think the play we’re rehearsing is Who’s Afraid of Virginia Wolf? or maybe a Tennessee Williams play, but soon I realize it’s a play about a community theatre mounting a production of Who’s Afraid of Virginia Wolf?

A disagreement has broken out between the director and a few of the actors. Swoosie and I hide behind a loveseat far upstage waiting for the argument to pass. Meanwhile, a very tiny Helen Mirren floats above the stage. She is playing the part of a fairy who oversees the production. Swoosie and I are amazed that Helen’s dedication to her craft has actually transformed into a palm sized sprite.

Travels With My Aunt...Imogene

December 20, 2007

It’s Sunday afternoon and I’m at my family’s annual Christmas party. All of my cousins and aunts and uncles are there. It’s a scene I’ve witnessed dozens of times over the course of my life, but something is different this time. Instead of the hall we usually rent, we find ourselves on a cramped houseboat with a very low ceiling. In the main room, lit only by the twinkle of white Christmas lights, a man in a suit and tie croons a Christmas carol to entertain the children.

The man in the suit is Tony Bennett. He does an okay job, but when he’s finished I think to myself, “I could do better than that.” I take the microphone from Tony and sing “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.”

The party over and our ship docked in South Philly, I leave the boat and walk to the top of a grassy hill. My family follows me as far as the bottom of the hill. At the top I find a hot air balloon waiting for me. I climb into the balloon’s basket, and then help my elderly aunt, Imogene Coca, hop aboard.

As we ascend into the grey afternoon sky, the family below us fades away, and Imogene and I view Philadelphia as it might have looked a few centuries ago, littered with open, green spaces and not a skyscraper in sight.

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I think it's worth noting (of course I would!) that Imogene Coca was born in Philadelphia in 1908.

Whatever Happened To Baby Lynn?

September 3, 2007

I'm on a plane flying to London with Vanessa Redgrave. We make our way to one of the high floors of an enormous hospital building made of stone. It is easily seventy or eighty stories high.

We are here to visit Vanessa's sister, Lynn, who has just had a stroke. We spy her from across a crowded waiting room. She is in a hospital bed, but she appears healthy and she smiles when she sees us.

As we approach her bed, it is apparent that Lynn now has her own room and is no longer in the waiting area. Vanessa and Lynn kiss and exchange greetings. Lynn looks at me and exclaims, "You dear, beautiful boy!"

I say hello as well, then decide that the two sisters should have a little privacy. I excuse myself, go out in the hall and look for a place to sit.

It does not seem like a typical hospital. It's more like a gigantic airport lounge, with row after row of plastic orange seats all filled up. Finally, I come to a doorway, look inside, and see an empty bed. I decide to lie in bed amongst the patients until it is time to go back to see Lynn.

I pick up a pornographic magazine from the nightstand. A doctor appears through some curtains, assumes that I am a patient and inquires about taking my temperature. I explain that I am just a visitor and that I couldn't find an empty seat in the waiting area.

I go back to Lynn's room, say a few pleasant words, then leave with Vanessa to allow Lynn to rest. In the hallway we run into the doctor. It seems like only now does he believe that I'm not a patient.

Back in America and not quite sure how I got here, I am walking around Midtown Manhattan when I see a gigantic electronic billboard on the roof of a Broadway theatre. The billboard is showing a video of Lynn performing in a play. I think to myself that the footage must have been shot before Lynn's stroke, and that surely she must have been forced to withdraw from the play. But as I head into the theatre through the stage door and into Lynn's dressing room, I am delighted to see her sitting at a dressing table, returned to health, happy to see me and preparing for a performance.

I am now part of the audience watching the play. Lynn Redgrave is not on stage, but Vanessa is. Lynn sits in the row behind me chatting and not paying much attention to the play. She looks just like she did when she played Baby Jane Hudson in the TV remake of Whatever Happened To Baby Jane. Wearing an over sized child's party dress, her face is covered in white powder with two rosy cheeks painted on and her long, brittle red hair is pulled into two grotesque pony tails on either side of her head.

Frida Be...You And Me

                                              

May 1, 2008   

It's late at night on Easter Sunday. I'm hanging Frida Kahlo prints in my grandmother's apartment and waiting for her to be dropped off from her day out at my cousin's house. I hear the low rumble of my Aunt's station wagon and see the glare of headlights as I peek through the closed blinds of my grandmother's front window.

I hurriedly gather up a stack of newspapers and drop them in a neat pile on a coffee table as Nanny (my grandmother) comes through the door. She looks tiny in her camel hair coat, and she is clearly exhausted from the day's activities.

I know this because she tell me as we exchange hugs, "I am clearly exhausted. This is no way for a 100 year old woman to be running around."

Suddenly, it's 1973 and I'm backstage at Carnegie Hall. I can see the first few rows of the audience from my vantage point in the wings at stage left. In the fourth row I spy a very young Oprah Winfrey. In the front row, an ebullient Leonard Bernstein stands, rocking back and forth and clapping his hands in time to the music. He gets into a scuffle when a tall man wearing cowboy boots complains that Leonard has stepped on his foot.

"This is a concert! What do you expect? You want I should get down on my hands and knees and polish your shoes as you walk by?"

My attention is now drawn to the stage, though I don't have a very good view of it. Bette Midler is giving a concert, only it's more like a variety show. I can't see her face, only a big blur of red hair.

Closer to my side of the stage, I see Bette's special guest, Miss Vicki Lawrence, dressed in a most unusual costume. Singing for the crowd, Vicki wears a metal corset and antlers in homage to two separate Frida Kahlo paintings, The Broken Column, and The Little Deer (sometimes called The Wounded Deer.)

Finally, I am in Queens, New York running from store to store trying to find a book of Kahlo paintings. I hail a cab to take me home, but the driver refuses, saying he only accepts fares to Manhattan.