The Final Bow

I learned a lot about myself in those days; my foibles, my weaknesses and most importantly, how it wasn't necessary for me to impress anyone, or concern myself with what others thought of me.
Writing about this chapter in my life has been cathartic although mentally draining. It took a good number of years to come to understand those stagehand days. I couldn't have written this back then. Back then, there were plenty of days I couldn't even hold a pen.

When I said goodbye to Broadway, I wasn't sure what I was going to do with my life, but whatever it was, I was going to do it with a clear head and without bleary eyes. I knew, like the lamp I learned to operate, I needed to stay focused.

Thank you all for your comments along the way.

Albert Camus once wrote; "Live to the point of tears."
I have Albert, I have.

The Clock Dragon Of Time

There hung a dragon over stage proscenium ominously looking down like another member of those hidden stagehands in the catwalks. The set piece in the show was called the Clock Dragon of Time.
A new generation of stagehands were being hired but I wasn't going to be one of them. I felt as though I caught the tail end of a generation of wise-cracking, pranksters that seemed to be on it's way out. It's not like the old days, those old timers would say, and they'd be so very right.
I know there will never be another Tony The Cop or Jimmy G and in some way, this has been a tribute to those two mentors of mine. Two guys who were more notorious on Broadway than most of the cast members in the shows.

The English word "dragon" derives from the Greek verb δρακεῖν (drakein) which means "to see clearly" and I think I finally do, but as they say, only time will tell.

When I walked into Hank's office, I kept my chin up, I didn't feel like such a madrotz anymore. I told him it was time for me to be moving on.
He said he understood.
Time has a way of healing; of filling the spaces and voids with new memories, emotions and experiences, and of unraveling the knots while tying them back together in new arrangements.

Reading the newspapers these days, I still come across mishaps on the Broadway stages.
Last year, rock star, Bret Michael got clocked by an incoming set piece during the MTV music awards at Radio City Music Hall or more recently a stage manger, who'd worked on the production of "Dirty Rotten Scoundrels" turned himself in and was arrested for video taping an unnamed actress disrobing in her dressing room.
I'm sure there are plenty of others stories. Some that make the news and others that circulate in the form of rumors on Broadway and beyond.
I'm not sure however, if in today's society, Doc aka "The Peeper", who drilled a hole in Bebe Newirth's dressing room to spy on her taking her clothes off would be treated in the same manner as it was back then - with a mild reprimand equivalent to a slap on the wrist, and mockery from his brother stagehands. I highly doubt it.

The Glove, I'm sure, is still telling the stories about the orgies in the lighting booth or bragging about his hand-jobs at Smith's bar to anyone who'd listen.
Smitty or some of the other pink contract men wouldn't have to lock their toolboxes anymore with Tony the Cop and Jimmy G gone, nor would their shouts ring out across the stage from being stuck in the bucket lift or trapped in the grid with the lights turned out.
The Gershwin felt like a different place during my final days there. A wickedness was gone.
The real dragon I faced along the way of my journey lurked in the bottom of a bottle. I can't say there’s such a thing as slaying the dragon. It’s always out there somewhere in the darkness.
But this isn’t mythology or folklore. These stories are all true. And while I’ve had my battles, I don’t consider myself a hero. I'm just some guy who never made the cut and never became and Number One Man.

After picking up my last check at the Gershwin I walked down 8th Avenue and stopped into McHale's for old time’s sake.

"What'll it be?" Asked a blond bartender I didn’t recognize.

"I'll have a soda. I'm on the wagon these days." I told her.

I was just about to leave and head down to Port Authority when I saw Tony the Cop walk out of the shitter and sit at the end of the bar. He looked ragged, beaten down.
He didn’t see me.
I called the bartender over.

“I want to order that guy a drink.”

“Tony?” She asked.

“Yeah.”

“He’s drinking seven and seven.”

“Okay but do me a favor, leave out one of the sevens. I’ll pay you for the drink but don’t put any alcohol in it.”

“I don’t think he’s gonna like that.” She said.

“I know but could you do it anyway.”

She shrugged and brought Tony his drink.

“What the fuck is this shit?” I heard Tony yell as he spit out the drink all over the bar.

He called the bartender over probably to ask her who had order it for him, but I was already half out the door. I had a bus to catch.

Wicked

The musical 'Wicked' is the last show I ever worked on Broadway. It's still running today at the Gershwin. The fairy-tale revolves around how the Witch of the West became wicked. While I never saw a complete show, my guess is Tony the Cop and Jimmy G had something to do with it. From my own account, the Gershwin seems like a perfect place to tell a 'fall from grace' story.

The rehearsals demanded stagehands work eighteen hour days and by the end of the first week I wasn't as much physically drained as I was mentally exhausted. It would have been easy to unwind with a cocktail at one of the local bars in the area, but I didn't.
As the show went into previews, I was tempted by the invitation to join Charlie Red and The Glove at Howard Johnson's for a plate of friend clams and a beer.

"I think I'll pass." I told them.

Instead, since it was a warm night, I went outside to smoke a cigarette until our break was over. Behind a barricade, a hoard of theatergoers looked on in anticipation of a star emerging.
An older woman thrust a Playbill in front of me and asked if I could sign it.
I was about to tell her that I was nobody important but instead, I took the pen from her hand and jotted down my signature.

That night, I spent some time reevaluating my life and came to the realization that I did not want to continue working on Broadway as a stagehand. I just didn't have it in me to spend another three-years hustling and sucking up to people just to earn my union card and be an Number One man.

I knocked on Hank's door and he buzzed me into his office.

"Hank." I said. "I need to talk to you."

Forever Tango

Hank asked me to come in and learn a spotlight position on "Forever Tango". He didn't need me for the load-in since there were minimal sets on stage, and no singing by the cast; therefore a lesser amount of stagehands in the sound department.
Basically the show involved an assortment of couples dancing various styles of the tango.
The tango is an interesting dance; a dance where it's hard to determine who is leading. There's something equally romantic and fiery about the moves which display a lustful battle for dominance.
Once the show was up and running, I took Rebecca to see a performance. I bought two house seats so that she could take Tina, her boss at the interior design company.

Before the show started, I walked over to a deli to pick up a few cappuccinos while Rebecca and Tina waited outside the stage door for me.

As I was walked back, I saw Judith walking down 52nd Street towards me. My nerves started to jump. I noticed immediately that she was pregnant.
The old me would have dashed into the nearest bar and wouldn't have stopped drinking until someone scraped me off the floor.
I took a deep breath and I approached her.

"Michael. Wow." Judith said taken aback by running into me. "How are you?"

"Okay. Pretty good, I guess. And you?"

"Not bad, I'm leaving Broadway. I'm done with dressing bitchy actresses. Plus the long hours and everything." She said as looked me over. "So, you look well. Are you seeing anyone?"

"I am. Yes. And you?"

She just stared at me with a smirk on her face. Obviously, I knew she was pregnant but I couldn't resist pitching one last barb her way.

"I'm married Michael." She said emphatically. "I'm expecting."

"Well, congratulations."

I glanced across the street to where Rebecca and Tina were standing. Rebecca had been watching me. She and Tina waved back at me.

“Is that her?” Judith asked.

“Yeah.” I responded.

“So she has a daughter?” Judith asked assuming Tina was the woman I was dating.

“Actually... well, listen, it really doesn’t matter.” I said. “Um.... It was nice seeing you Judith. Take care.”

I walked across the street rather abruptly and left Judith standing there.

“Let me guess. That was Judith right?” Asked Rebecca.

“Yup.”

Rebecca threw her arms around me nearly spilling the cups of cappuccino I was holding and kissed me. Judith was still across the street looking back at us as she wandered off.

“What was that for?” I asked Rebecca.

“Because you’re mine now.” She answered.

As Rebecca and Tina took their seats and I got situated behind my lamp on the catwalk, both Duffy and The Glove asked me to point Rebecca out to them.
The house lights had just dimmed to half intensity.

"Throw a ghost light on her." Duffy said.

Peering through the scope, I spotted her in the audience and eased the dowser up throwing the slightest trace on her.

"She's cute from what I can tell." Said The Glove.

I noticed that someone was sitting directly in front of her with a massive contraption on their head. Metal spokes attached to a cumbersome-looking back brace.

Shifting the lamp over a bit, I realized it was Jimmy G.

"Oh, for Christ's sakes. Is that Gallahan?" I asked over the headset.

"Yeah. That's him." Said Duffy.

"I thought he was banned from the Gershwin?" I said.

"From workin'. Not seeing a show." Commented The Glove.

After the performance, I met Rebecca and Tina outside by the stage door.

"What did you think of the show?" I asked.

"It was good but we couldn't see much. There was this guy in front of us with big brace on his head." Said Rebecca.

"Yeah. That would be Jimmy G."

I wouldn't put it past Jimmy to have found out I purchased house seats and then purposefully got some directly in front of mine for himself.
Even when I wasn't working directly with those guys, they had a way of infiltrating my life on Broadway, causing havoc and keeping me on my toes for God's knows what.

Walking The Tightrope

No more drinking. Though I've said that in the past, I was serious about it this time. Anyone battling an addiction must want to quit or change. It makes sense.
What is difficult to say, is that I'd never drink again. I don't know what tomorrow will bring and in the past it could have been the most inane catalyst to spark a binge or something as life altering as a divorce.
As with anything in life, we have to envision something and chisel it into our minds before we set out to fulfill whatever yearnings there are in our heart.
Dealing with an addiction in life is very much like walking a tightrope with half of a net below you. On one side there's the possibility you may bounce back after a fall but on the other there's only the hard pavement of inescapable death.
It becomes a strenuous, balancing act and as with any tightrope walker, they'll tell you never to look down; just keep your sights glued straight ahead and take each small step with confidence.
No Fucking Card didn't mean much to me anymore. NFC became a new acronym for me - Never Fear Change.

Back In the City

Rebecca and I arrived back in the New York Metropolitan area at the end of August, 2001. Within two-weeks of our arrival, the events on Sept. 11th occurred. It wasn't only a different city I was returning to, but a different world.
There's a place nearby to where my parent's live called Eagle Rock Reservation, which is the highest point on Orange Mountain, and provides an impressive view of the Manhattan skyline be it 14 miles away. Rebecca and I hopped in the car and drove up when we first heard the news of the attacks on the World Trade Center.
Gawking motorists had already converged on the area as a line of cars stretched up the exceedingly winding path known as Snake Road.
As the smoke poured across the horizon, I remember thinking, this is what I brought this young, innocent girl back to - utter destruction.
I was determined to not to crumble like the towers did in front of me.

* I don't know why it hadn't dawned on me before, but I felt it necessary to add this point - especially with the overtly symbolic overtones in each of these blog entries - but Eagle Rock reservation was the spot where I proposed to Judith.

Soon Rebecca and I found ourselves an apartment and she landed a job as an apprentice with an interior design company. She got acclimated very quickly but as for myself, someone who was born and raised in the area, things took a bit more time.
I wasn’t quick to call Hank and go back to working as a stagehand. I’d been clean and sober for a nearly half a year and didn’t want to be tempted to smoke a joint with Jimmy G or have a beer with Tony the Cop at McHale’s. Part of me also still held onto the fear that I’d run into Judith and have old feelings churn up inside of me.
When I did finally go into New York, there was more glitz in Time Square than ever. Disney had become a reckoning force on Broadway. For me, there was this surreal vibe that actors could still be belting out happy show tunes in the theaters while downtown, bodies were still being extracted from the rubble.
Just like old times, I took a bus in to the Port Authority and walked up 8th Avenue to the Gershwin.
There were so many familiar faces I recognized; stagehands, chorus girls, deli owners and panhandlers all aloof to my presence yet somehow imprinted on the landscape as if time had frozen them where they stood when I left years ago.

"Mike McDuda!" Said Frankie, the doorman.

"Wow. I haven't heard that in a while." I gave him a firm handshake. "How's it goin' Frankie. Hank in?"

"Yeah," He said. "Go on up."

Frankie seemed in an overly ebullient mood and I wasn't sure if it was from the sincerity of seeing me after a few years or merely the alcohol I detected on his breath.

I found Hank in his office. The Wizard of Broadway had hooked up cable and was watching a NASCAR race on a television set he built.
Hank also seemed happy to see me and I half-expected to see Tony or Jimmy hanging out in Hank's office like they usually would before a show.

After a bit of small talk, I asked how Tony was doing.

"He's banned from the Gershwin." Said Hank. "You'll never see Tony in here again. Rick, the house manager finally got his wish. I couldn't pull anymore strings or vouch for those two."

"You mean Jimmy too?"

"Yeah. Oh, but you didn't hear. Jimmy was in an accident over the summer. He broke his back." Said Hank. "He was driving home from Atlantic City and fell asleep at the wheel. Flipped the car something like six times."

Hank explained Jimmy was still alive but was in a back brace and it was uncertain if he'd ever return to work.

"If he does come back to doing stagehand work, he won't be able to lift anything." Hank said. "But that shouldn't be a problem. Jimmy hardly ever lifted anything to begin with."

Tony and Jimmy were gone. It was hard to believe. I half-expected Hank to take up a fake collection for their absence or burst out laughing at the joke he just laid on me. But it wasn't a joke. Tony was banned from the theater and Jimmy's luck had finally run out.

"What about The Glove?" I asked.

"Tommy's still here. He's probably in the crew room." Hank said. "You should stop in and say hello."

I did, and the guys all did seem pretty glad to see me.

"McDuda! How'd ya like Georgia?" Asked Tommy the Glove, who was playing poker with Charlie Red and The Duke.

"A lot slower down there." I said not wanting to elaborate.

"Heard you was robbin' the cradle McDuda.?" The Duke cackled.

"She's twenty." I said.

"Hey McDuda, did you hear? Your ex-wife remarried." Said The Glove "To a stagehand."

"No, Tommy I didn't hear that."

Leaving the Cotton Mill

I had been in Georgia for nearly two-years and began to get homesick.
There was so much in Manhattan that I wanted to show and do with Rebecca; a horse and buggy ride through Central Park, the Impressionists works in the Museum of Modern Art, lunch at an outdoor cafe in Greenwich Village, and of course, the world I had left behind - a Broadway show.

After baseball season ended I maintained work with the Atlanta Braves by doing parades in my mascot costume. It wasn't a bad gig. I made $75 per hour and even have my own baseball card from a major league team.
At times, it was pretty humiliating but I never said anything about it. In fact, as a rule, when I wore the costume, I wasn't allowed to speak. Both the Cartoon Network and the Atlanta Braves forbid it.
During one particular carnival outside of Stone Mountain, a group of young boys around twelve or thirteen-years-old circled me like acne-pocked vultures and swatted their fists against my big, fuzzy head.
After about the fourth time, I turned to one of them corning him by a corndog hut and said; "You thin that's funny, you little shit?"
The boy's jaw dropped. He was mortified. Then his friend ran by and gave me another slap. I started chasing the little brats through the carnival grounds yelling; "I'm going to kill you1 I'm going to kill all of you!"

Rebecca, who would often accompany me to the various small towns, ran over to me.

"Michael, I think it's time you found another job." she said.

Rebecca wasn't tethered to anything in Georgia except for her family. Since her parents divorced and her father remarried, she was only really concerned about her mother being alone and it took some convincing to get her to agree to move.

"It's only a two-hour plane ride. You can visit whenever you want." I said in trying to sway her.

Finally, she agreed.
I was ready to hang up my baseball head.
It was time to make a phone call.

“Hank! How’s it going? It’s Michael McDonnell.”

“Michael! It’s good to hear from you. How’s things going in Georgia?” He asked.

"Well, I'm going to be moving back to New York pretty soon and I just wanted to let you know that I'd be available for you if you needed me."

"Okie Dokie. I'll keep that in mind. " Hank said. " Give me a call when you're back and I'll see what I can do."

We took a circuitous route and actually first headed west into Alabama, then the Ozarks, then continued north through Tennessee and through the Smokey Mountains. We traveled side by side with two vehicles - the car and a U-Haul truck we had rented. Neither of us had cellular phones at the time, so her father, Denis provide us with walkie-talkies to stay in contact with each other.

"Michael, I'm hungry. Can we stop?" Squawked the walkie-talkie.

We pulled over to a boiled peanut stand. It was the first time I tried the mushy legumes. I wasn't a fan.

"Wait till we get to New York.” I told her. “You've got to try a Knish, and an egg cream, oh, and a dirty-water dog.”

“Sounds nasty. What’s a dirty-water dog?” She grimaced.

“A pushcart.”

“A pushcart?”

While I felt I could offer Rebecca a world she was unaccustomed to, and develop her malleable sensibilities through some Pygmalion journey that her own hometown, hick village could not provide, I wondered if the big city life was right for her. What sort of world, I asked myself would be fitting if I continued to drink? If I spent the long hours at the theater and lost touch with her as I had done with Judith? If I myself continued to allow myself to be molded by the likes of stagehands like Tony the Cop and Jimmy G?