Photo by Warren
My Real Memoir
We’d moved to a custom-built home in the Coyote Hills, sandwiched between the abandoned oil refinery I’d explored as a kid and the Los Coyotes Country Club where my band had played from the high dive while margarita-powered fifty-year-olds crashed into one another on the dance floor below. Our new home was insanely expensive (about what a Subaru would cost now). But my newspaper-dealing Dad had quit “that &%$+*!# communist Herald-Examiner” and was building a bigger, better route with the Los Angeles Times.
I was officially an adult. So I put a pipe rack on my VW dashboard and took up pretending to smoke as I commuted to college. Then I got a rack-full of imported wines and began inviting friends over for book-reading soirees. I was the most sophisticated nineteen-year-old on the block.
But I wasn’t happy. Which was odd. After all, I’d been the teenage-rocker and high school drama geek who lived for the roar of the crowd, the guy who sang “My Cherie Amour” at the top of his lungs every time Stevie came on the radio. But something had changed. I’d go see plays at my old high school, and cheer on my buddy Jeph. And afterward, my old “kissing club” mate Nancy and I would climb into the back of my Volkswagen and morph into friends-with-benefits.
But it wasn’t enough.
Maybe stardom would fix me. The musical 110° In the Shade the previous summer held a cherished place in my Museum of Greatest Me Moments, and this summer Mr. Baker was directing Guys & Dolls. So I jumped at the chance to play Nathan Detroit, the comedic lead.
But I was bored from the start. Why? I loved acting, and I got to kiss the girl, Adelaide, being played by my one-time almost-girlfriend Helen. Adelaide was also being played on alternate nights by another cute girl named Trish, and I dated both of them that summer. What wasn’t to love? Yet I was bored, and barely learned my lines.
Result?
On opening night, I blanked. Badly. Really badly, as in everyone-in-the-Western-Hemisphere-knew badly. Following an infinity of silence, I shouted, “I don’t want to marry your mother!” which had nothing to do with anything, and Adelaide replied, “Um…what?” I managed to bad-lib my way through the rest of the night and self-consciously sweat-out the remaining performances.
But I’d never been unhappier in my life.
Yes, I was depressed. But I didn’t know it. Instead, I convinced myself I simply had no feelings, and would never feel anything again. It was probably partly biochemical. After all, I’d recently gotten dangerously, fraternity-hazing-level drunk, and shortly thereafter smoked enough hash to kill a blue whale. And now, via my own foolish lack of preparation, I’d suffered a PTSD-inducing “actor’s nightmare.”
But it was more than that. Looking back over the arc of time, I see now that I’d built my joy on the eroding sands of first-love and local-boy fame. Or, to borrow a phrase from the songwriter Jackson Browne, who grew up riding his bike in the very Coyote Hills where I now lived…
I was running on empty.
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Wonderfully written! How often do we build what will not last, and will not give us what we truly need. This is a very good reminder.
Thank you, Julie. And amen.
Mitch, you were a great Nathan Detroit! I was in that play, had the part of Liver Lip Louie (the guy with the toothpick). Great memories! Jeff Branman was the cop. My one and only show with you!
I don’t know if you’ll see my response, since WordPress lists you as “Anonymous” here, but great to hear from you! Unfortunately, that was a long time ago and I’ve forgotten your name.
Love the story and last line Mich “I see now that I’d built my joy on the eroding sands of first-love and local-boy fame. “👏
I agree-it appears you peaked emotionally with the success of your boy band and then crashed.
I think we’ve all had periods in life when we were running on empty. For me it was because I wasn’t truly focused above.
It seems, everyone’s story arc contains a point where they recognize they are “running on empty” or that they’ve “hit rock bottom”. Life is so much better when we get beyond that point. Glad you eventually found peace and perspective.
Me too, and thanks, Manette.
The dreaded blank. I was playing Humphrey Bogart in Play It Again Sam in Connecticut and just before my entrance someone asked me a question. I walked out on my first scene at dress rehearsal with the question in my brain and none of the lines. I knew these lines backwards and forwards but for some reason they wouldn’t come. I looked over at the stage manager hoping she would throw me a line. She just mouthed silently “get off.” I managed to come up with something and then dove for the exit. Luckily I managed to pull it together for the rest of the play and run.
Terrifying, isn’t it, John? I trust the perfomances went well, though.
It did. One other benefit was my wife was crazy for Humphrey Bogart.
So, I assume you said, “Here’s looking at you, kid” to her on a regular basis.
I did my big blank right in the middle of the high-energy duet “Anything You Can Do, I Can Do Better” from “Annie Get Your Gun,” but we were doing it as two girl roommates in fuzzy slippers, robes and curlers.
The silence went on forever. The piano trailed away…
I looked at my performance partner.
“What’s my next line?” I asked her.
“I can knit a sweater,” she replied.
I took the song from there, a capella until the piano joined back in and so did she. We took first place.
I can feel the hot prickles on my neck right now.
You handled it like a pro, Ana!
I totally thought I’d completely blown it, too.
The ups and downs of life make it grand – “Looking back over the arc of time, I see now that I’d built my joy on the eroding sands of first-love and local-boy fame.”
I had a friend who had been the girlfriend of one of the Eagles before he hit the big time. Timothy something. Anyway, he’d call her, still, sometimes, for bolstering up when he came off tour. “All of a sudden I’m nobody,” he’d tell her, “and nothing!”
Haha, he should try being homeless.
To your question Mitch. She loved to hear, “Here’s looking at you, kid” and the way I said “Sweetheart.”
;>)
Great story and great writing. It is not easy being young. I just finished reading a book yesterday (Induced Coma, by Tanya Taylow Morris, an independent author). It was about how drugs destroyed the author’s family. The picture you chose (a stock photo) is exactly the photo she used for the front cover of her book.
So tragic, Thomas. An entire branch of my family (3+ generations) was completely wiped out by addiction to drugs and alcohol.
I am so sorry to hear that
My biggest ‘blank’ happened when I had to play the piano in front of an audience in college. I could have played the piece in my sleep at home, but in that hall my hands just would not cooperate. After the third attempt, I gave up. There weren’t even any ‘wings’ to flee to – I had to go and sit back down in the front row. It was the most painfully embarrassing moment of my entire life. I didn’t give up the piano, though – I went on to get distinction in Grade 8.
I’m so happy to hear you didn’t give up, Annabelle!
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Mitch, your life is a movie (I see an award-winning one). Forgotten lines, former loves, hazing, and hash. I had experience with hash on a trip to Egypt. That experience was a TRIP I want to forget. All the falls flat on my faith lead to a place where I don’t worry about forgotten lines or loves anymore. Isn’t it great that young and dumb CAN lead to old and wise if we choose? I do still cringe at forgetting a line in “Annie Get Your Gun” (hi, Ana!), “The Pirates of Penzance”, and “Lil Abner” (I was an 18-year-old Daisy Mae. Ah, a small town, small school, BIG Broadway productions, lol. Mitch–do you know how much we ALL enjoy and appreciate YOU?
Aw, thank you, Karla. I hadn’t realized you were a teenage musical star!
You’re welcome, Mitch! I wouldn’t call myself a star since we were VERY rural and not many of us to choose from–lol! My twin is actually WAY better on stage–I prefer to be “back up” on ANYTHING (writing is MUCH safer, lol).
;>)
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