There Are Worse Things I Could Do

Stockard Channing

Today we celebrate the birth Susan Antonia Williams Stockard, born February 13, 1944. You may know her better as Stockard Channing.

What is it about humans that makes us pick favorites, to categorize everything into lists? Favorite colors, favorite movies, favorite songs, favorite actors. I don't know the answer, and even though I do it all the time (see the massive list of "favorites" on my Itunes) I'd be hard pressed to pick just one favorite performer, even after a lifetime of channel surfing and movie and theatre going. But I can tell you that Stockard Channing would undoubtedly hover near the top of the list.

I've seen her  in five plays, one musical, one staged reading, and one Christmas tree lighting. The first time I saw her on stage, in Six Degrees of Separation, I was so close to the stage I could see the veins in her legs through her shiny but sheer stockings. I didn't obsess over them or anything (I am definitely not someone who makes a habit of staring at veins, I'm way to queasy for that) but it was a moment that made me feel like, 'oh this is real, I'm seeing one of the English language's finest actresses at work in the flesh." It was a thrill. 

Five years ago while she was appearing on Broadway in Pal Joey, I met her at the stage door with flowers to celebrate her birthday. I thought there might be other well wishers there but it was just me. She was very gracious and stopped to take a picture and thank me, even though she was dangerously close to missing her half hour call. I had no way of knowing what time she'd arrive so I'd been waiting well over an hour in the cold. It was like Six Degrees of Fahrenheit. 

I'd met her briefly one other time at a reception following a staged reading of The Normal Heart.  A crowd had gathered around her as she shook hands and signed autographs for people. As I awaited my turn I tried to think of something intelligent to say. I wanted desperately to make a good impression. And what came out when I opened my mouth, what did I ask of the woman who had returned to the New York stage to show the world that she was more than just the girl from Grease? 

"Do you think you'll ever do another musical?"

To her credit she did take a second to think about it as she handed me back my freshly signed Playbill.

"I don't know...I hope so"

"I hope so, too!"

I guess there are worse things I could have said.

Roosevelt's Whores

December 1, 2009

I'm sitting on a giant bed which has an ornate frame that seems to be carved from mahogany, or perhaps cherry wood. It's a bed fit for a leader, and in fact this is the White House, and that bed belongs to President Jeb Bartlet (Martin Sheen) from TVs The West Wing. I have no sense of being on television--President Bartlet seems every bit a real life world leader as he strides confidently into the room. He is greeted by a throng of children who present him with drawings of Washington and Air Force One.

The children, like myself, are here for a pajama party with the President. I have a feeling that I might work here, but I know I am not very high level because when and aide whispers in the President's ear that a military situation in South America will necessitate the cancellation of the sleepover I am ushered out into a rotunda like hallway with the children. A cloud covered, snow dotted Washington skyline is visible through slotted windows.

"I feel like one of Roosevelt's whores," I mutter as I am led down the hallway still in my pajamas, my clothes and shoes gathered up in my arms.

I hear a sharp, distinctive laugh. I look back to see First Lady Abigail Bartlet (Stockard Channing) surveying the scene. She looks amazing as she warms her hands in her over sized muff, or perhaps it's really a stole.

I am mortified that she has heard what I've said. I try to explain that I didn't mean to imply that her husband has whores, but she waves her hand as if to say, "Think nothing of it." She is clearly tickled by the situation and I find myself greatly relieved.