Ghosts and Actors

Where do our passions begin? Does the spark always catch the tinder and burst into flame right away? Or does it sometimes smolder for decades?

Back in 1963, Strawberry Elementary school actually had more students than it had available space. So the Multi-purpose Room, which was usually reserved for assemblies, was divided into two improvised classrooms by drawing shut its floor-to-ceiling corrugated fiberglass dividers, and Mrs. Gates' 3rd grade class took up residence in one half. The novelty of being in an unconventional space was tempered by the lack of windows, except those high up on the walls, which made it dreary during the winter.

Thankfully, when spring came around, Mrs. Gates got in the habit of opening up the big double doors in the afternoon, to let in some fresh air. That was also when our principal, Mr. Womack, began visiting us once in the afternoon, to read aloud and give us a break from our studies. I'm sure he read lots of different stories, but the one I recall most was The Wind in the Willows, which was made even better by the warm breeze wafting through the open doors. He had a rich voice and brought the book to life in a way that I have been trying to emulate ever since. When people ask me what made me want to become an actor, I tell them it was Mr. Womack's fault.

The acting spark lay dormant in me until 7th grade, when Mr. Hughes, our teacher at Martin Luther King School in Sausalito, had us perform verses from The Admiral's Ghost, by Alfred Noyes. Now, lest you think my memory is better than it really is, the only thing I remembered from the occasion was one of my lines, "That Hardy thought he knew." But, thanks to the Internet, that was all I needed. A quick search identified the poem and it was fun to read it again, 43 years later. Here is the first part, so you get the gist:

   THE ADMIRAL'S GHOST
   By Alfred Noyes

   I tell you a tale to-night
   Which a seaman told to me,
   With eyes that gleamed in the lanthorn light
   And a voice as low as the sea.

   You could almost hear the stars
   Twinkling up in the sky,
   And the old wind woke and moaned in the spars
   And the same old waves went by.

   Singing the same old song
   As ages and ages ago,
   While he froze my blood in that deep-sea night
   With the things he seemed to know.

   A bare foot pattered on deck;
   Ropes creaked; then-all grew still,
   And he pointed his finger straight in my face
   And growled, as a sea-dog will.

   'Do 'ee know who Nelson was?
   That pore little shrivelled form
   With the patch on his eye and the pinned-up sleeve
   And a soul like a North Sea storm?

   'Ask of the Devonshire men!
   They know, and they'll tell you true;
   He wasn't the pore little chawed-up chap
   That Hardy thought he knew.


There, see that last line? That's the only thing I remembered distinctly. And that was because I threw myself wholeheartedly into my preparation. I worked especially hard on my Cockney British accent (no doubt influenced by Dick Van Dyke's portrayal of the chimney sweep in Mary Poppins) and fancied myself quite the young Thespian. This was to be my Big Chance.

Unfortunately, I have always had a tendency to talk rapidly on stage, and my first time treading the boards was to be no exception. My intention was to dutifully drop my r's and announce to the world the arrival of the next Great Character Actor. When we came to my part, I began just fine. But then, like a milk truck running downhill without brakes, I picked up alarming speed. As I bumped over each line, consonants flew in every direction, never to be seen again. And when I came to the final line of my stanza, it was all I could do to blurt out "THA'ORREE'OTTEE'OO!" to the no-doubt puzzled audience. As the poem ploughed on, even I knew that I had blown it. Sadly, there is no going back, no do-overs in live theatre. That would have to stand as my first real performance.

I really didn't start taking acting seriously until my senior year in college, after another failed theatrical experience (see Pirates and Daughters, posted in August). I spent the next 3 1/2 years studying acting at the College of Marin, mostly learning that I had no idea what I was doing. I was eager, so I got lots of roles but, admittedly, stunk up the stage on many occasions. Yet there were occasional glimpses of something more that kept me going; first to the Drama Studio London program in Berkeley, and then to Hollywood.

Paradoxically, by the time I really got a handle on my acting technique, I had decided to pursue other ways of earning a subsistence living. I moved back to the Bay Area, where I started teaching drama at the College of Marin and directing plays.

These days, though acting is still my passion, I only do it for fun, which I suppose is probably the best reason to spend huge blocks of time on so ephemeral an activity. I love simply being in a theater and am perfectly happy hanging out in the chorus of a musical, or having a line or two to say. However, that doesn't mean that I don't still occasionally dream of Bigger Things.

One project I have been contemplating for several years is a staged reading of Dylan Thomas' A Child's Christmas in Wales. But, given my recent Internet-inspired glimpse into the past, perhaps I should tackle The Admiral's Ghost instead. It might be cathartic. And if you happened to have been at that landmark performance in Mr. Hughes' Class, back in the 60's, it would be your chance to actually hear what "...Hardy thought he knew." I promise.