The Curtain's Fallin'
“People say I was made for this. Nothin' else would I trade for this. And just think I get paid for this…” Bobby Darin
After my first show, I reflected on the evening moments as I sat alone on the large Casino Rama stage with a ghost light as my only illumination source. I looked over the theater and saw only footlights marking the pathway of the now-empty seats. Loneliness feels right at this time. Alone with the theater, I think of my relationship with it a comradeship. I allow my imagination to wander feral and scare myself with imaginary ghosts from tales long told about apparitions seen after hours. But the ghost light is supposed to protect me from what theater lore taught me, and the quiet calm is why I make my presence here tonight. I'm here by myself to be true “one with the stage.” I have a profound connection to any performance space, a symbiotic relationship with the stage. I enjoy a reciprocal relationship with her where I extract from the theater experience dynamic and captivating moments in exchange for infusing the area with artistry and mesmerizing theatrical encounters. My thespian mind wanders to those before me who filled this domain. Just like when I travel old roads, I wondered about the people who walked there before my arrival and the culture they honored. Who journeyed here and why? Then my mind wanders to ancient roads, going back thousands of years to Greece or Rome. I think about my footprint intersecting the same space as one of the “tyrants” from Greece’s past or a Centurion where if I listen closely, I hear his measured musical step and the rhythm of the clank of his metal armor against the stone road and it echos trans-millennial through the air to my brain as my mind transports me to time eternal.
A melting pot of performers has entered the wings of this stage I sit upon as I think and reflect. It's not an old Greek theater. It hasn't shown signs of aging, but as more and more footprints of modern entertainers enter this arena, its history will be embedded in its core for future generations of performers to cross. I feel infinity, true timelessness as I sit here reflecting on times past and into the future when my head suddenly snaps to the present moment. Thinking about this space and its fullness, it’s vibrancy, and it’s an abundance of life, and when the curtain falls after a show, and how you feel an immediate shift in energy as performers, crew, and audience transition from their collaborative roles in this fantastic theatrical production come out of their hypnotic state to the reality of their roles in life. For the audience, it meant immediately taking chances with “lady luck” at the gambling tables and slot machines before returning home to jobs as school teachers, doctors, secretaries, mechanics, attorneys, et al. The Stage crew hurriedly cleaned up, anticipating clocking out for the night while entertainers gathered a few belongings and left with security to hotel rooms or restaurants. All are waiting for the revolution of the hands of the clock to indicate the next event in their life. Tic toc, tic toc, tic toc … the clock hands go around and around. These bittersweet moments captivate the hearts of stage performers, assistants, and crews worldwide.
I think about how the stage crew and performers worked together collectively during the show that night. With the precision of a Swiss clock, we transformed the stage into a breathtaking spectacle, ready to enchant the next audience. But now, this once-rich space is silent, amplifying the echoes of the performance just concluded. I find solace amidst the grandeur of this empty stage and begin thinking about the Cirque du Soleil “Mystère” show at Treasure Island in Las Vegas, which I've seen a few times over the years from different perspectives. As an audience member, I experienced the magic brought to life by watching the fantastic acrobatics and other variety of stage artists from a theater seat. From that vantage point, I saw the magic happen. But one time, years ago, I watched the show from the light booth and got to see how the magic works. I'm not sure which perspective I prefer. Apples and oranges, but both theatrical experiences were equally impressive. With exactness, each performer and crew member worked together to deliver a stellar show.
Seeing myself as a performer through the lens of the audience and stage crew has helped me understand myself as an entertainer. It’s helped me improve my relationship with viewers and stagehands. Knowing the inner workings of each component has given me empathy and awareness for my audience and crew. Especially the crew with whom I intimately work in the theatrical setting. Our first show at Casino Rama during this run went very smoothly because we worked with highly trained professionals adept at their jobs. Watching a show come together from scratch in just a few short hours is a wonder. These are turn-key operations with very little time for rehearsals and less time for mistakes. So, everyone has to work in tandem to make it happen. Have you ever wondered how a big rock show comes together so quickly? Everyone has an assignment to complete in a scheduled amount of time. Our road manager, Jerry Pfaff, was an expert at taking us around the world, setting us up in hotels and making travel arrangements, feeding us, and ensuring our equipment arrived and was picked up. He made custom arrangements for this trip to Canada, including obtaining travel permits for our animals. There are too many details to mention.
We always had great road managers and assistants, and this made our lives liveable on the road. Jerry had worked with the Rolling Stones and Natalie Cole, so we were fortunate to have one of the best and most dedicated road managers as our Papa, as I often called him. He had the experience and tales from the road to tell. Once, while working with the Stones in Brazil, a musician from their group was kidnapped and left on Copacabana Beach a few days later minus a kidney. Another time, most of Natalie Cole’s crew was infected with a bad apple, causing him to replace most of them in an almost overnight emergency. Good road managers are valuable assets and the heartbeat of a touring show. Without a good one, you might face disaster.
As I woke from my trance on stage, my eyes settled on a piece of paper left on a table backstage. I picked it up to find a copy of ours. Frank Sinatra Junior’s technical rider left the week before; an agreement between the artist and venue to ensure all stage requirements were met so the artist could effectively deliver a stellar show. A page from ours was on the floor with a dirty shoe print. I picked it up, and it was page 2 of our technical write describing the essential requirements for our sets, my costume change booth, and necessary prop tables and running lights to create smooth backstage transitions. I was reminded of how much work we had done to be here at this moment, performing in a top venue reserved for the best of entertainment. Jerry expertly put all this together based on our needs and wants. It was a work of art all its own.
Our rider requirements were standard and straightforward compared to other performers' elaborate additions. Ours didn’t include precise items, such as asking for only red and yellow M&Ms. I can’t remember which artist asked for specific M&Ms in their contract. Still, I remember reading about that story once and thinking how divaish the demand came across to the general public. But then, we asked for specific items in our catering, like Mountain Dew and Orange Crush for Jonathan and Diet Coke for myself. Those days before, I discovered the health disadvantages of consuming aspartame and other chemicals. Lord knows what damage I did to myself drinking that stuff. Now, I drink water. Those were wants and not needs. What did I need? I needed a quick change booth for my lightning-speed costume changes. Without it, we couldn't perform, and these were makeshift booths with a mirror, table, wardrobe rack, chair or two, and a light. I never had time to look in the mirror as I speedily changed between acts. But it was there if any of us needed one, as often dressing rooms were quite a distance from the stage, and sometimes they were located on a different floor. This page of our rider also called for running lights so we could all safely cross to the other side of the stage during a show.
Blue lights are mainly used backstage because blue light is the brightest color. But it sometimes opens up your irises, blinding you when you come off stage. That's how it affects me, so I worked with a red light backstage to keep my irises from opening too wide, allowing me to see better in the dark backstage. Stage lights are bright and blinding, so when you go back and forth between stage and backstage, your eyes constantly adjust to the lighting change. Blue light keeps my irises open, so I can't make that necessary adjustment. However, blue light is primarily used by stagehands who remain in darkness the whole show and need their irises open to see. Necessary red lights were placed where I needed them, but mostly, they were blue to accommodate the crew.
A clip of one of our illusions performed at Casino Rama
Thumbing through our rider and comparing it to Frank Jr’s, I noticed ours wasn't much different than his. Both addressed essential parts of lighting and staging conditions in stage technical language, which I admit I don't wholly understand. Calling a show is an art and takes time to learn. Jerry called our show from the light booth where he could see the show. He would do this by connecting the headset to all necessary stage personnel, giving them stage cues using stage dialect to direct the actions. This cut our rehearsal time to a minimal walk-through of our performance more for the benefit of the stage crew than us. Venues lifted us because we were easy to work with on stage. Snooping through Frank’s, I noticed he requested a pile of white towels immediately accessible off-stage. This is standard for singers who want to maintain their onstage appearance. Stage lights are hot, causing sweating, which is often problematic. We had white towels as well, but only a few. Why white? Black ones leave black lint on your skin, so your freshly wiped face or body might be left with black speckles on your contrasting light skin. Performers with darker skin use black towels for the same reason. It's a detail you learn from experience, or someone tells you. According to Jerry, Natalie Cole asked for dark towels; that's how I discovered the distinction.
I mentioned in my previous Substack that I worked with Frank Sinatra, the father and singer, who didn't need an introduction. It was back at Bally’s Grand in Las Vegas, where all rat packs were performed individually throughout the year in The Celebrity Theater, located next to the giant showroom featuring the most extensive variety of spectacles in Las Vegas in the 80s. We were the starring variety act. Our dressing room was located on an upper floor and was easily accessible by elevator. We shared the floor with two other variety acts and the headliner from The Celebrity Theater, who was often called Frank Sinatra. His dressing room was right across from ours. When he was in town, we were warned never to look at or talk to him, which seemed logistically impossible because we’d all use the same elevator and hallway. Once, I was in the elevator with him and stared straight ahead without acknowledging his existence. He walked past me as if I were a ghost. I always checked the hall to be sure he wasn't around before I ventured out. There was creepiness to it all, and I wondered how he'd gotten to be like he was as an entertainer. I worked there with three other Rat Pack members, Sammy Davis Junior, Dean Martin, and Jerry Lewis, and all were friendly and down to earth, especially Sammy, whom I became close with, and even clothing shopping with him because he liked my jeans. Why did Frank seem to have a chip on his shoulder? I heard from reliable sources that his rider was extensive and strict, asking for things like a hotel suite explicitly designed to his taste.
One time, on his return to Bally’s, he told the entertainment director he liked the suite created for him, but next time, he wanted the same thing but on another floor with a different view. I remember one time, out of pure boredom, he began taking empty plates off the food cart and using them as frisbees, tossed them down the hall, hitting the wall at the end before shattering into a hundred pieces. Maybe his account was charged for the plates; I don't know. I was happy to avoid him. I recall one time he had Shields and Yarnell fired because Lorene boldly argued with him about her stage entrance. He's someone who commanded your respect, one way or another. I stayed humble around him.
Most people I know believe entertainers have to be high on happiness because of their successful careers, making them the focus of the public’s attention. In my experience, most entertainers are never fulfilled. There’s always more you want beyond your reach, and when and if you do attain more, it doesn't always end in satisfaction. I remember the dressing room wars between artists in Las Vegas in the 80’s. It began when Siegfried and Roy were given a luxurious hotel suite dressing rooms with sleeping quarters and even a tiny kitchen when they moved to Steve Wynn’s Mirage. When I visited, I always wondered why they needed this space and concluded that it was there to impress visitors who were often wealthy and famous. It wasn't long before Bobby Berosini, who took Siegfried and Roys's place at the old Stardust Hotel, had an elaborate dressing room. On and on, up and down the strip, artists demanded more expensive perks like gaudy dressing rooms and unique parking spaces. One artist I know well starred in his show at the Mirage in Vegas, replacing Siegfried and Roy after their forced retirement due to Roy’s accident with his cat. This guy wasn't happy to have his show in one of the top venues in Las Vegas and the world. We shared the same manager, so one day, I was in Chip Lightman’s office watching him verbally abuse Chip because he wanted more, and Chip wasn't delivering it. He wanted his own Aaron Spelling TV Show, which was beyond his reach. If he had gotten that far? My guess is he wouldn't have been happy.
I'm a victim of this myself. I recall working on cruise ships in the late 70’s, a dream job for most people seeking work as an entertainer and not being happy because I wanted to do Vegas. But when I finally performed in Las Vegas, very little made me happier. I was surprised by my lack of gratification. I knew that I wouldn't be happier when I reached higher objectives, like TV shows, so I decided to be grateful for all my achievements. One audience wasn't any more critical than another show. Busking on a street corner can be more rewarding than performing in an arena for 25,000 people. When I began examining my level of contentment and happiness, I embraced my enjoyment based on each audience response and how I connected to them, so regardless of the venue, whether it be a show at a rest home for seniors or on a prominent world stage performing for heads of states and other elite; what matters for me is the audiences and if they are happy and entertained, and that's were I placed my enjoyment as an entertainer. Thankfully, I've always been fulfilled in this showbiz industry by my supportive audience. If I make them smile, then I smile.
I think discontent comes from wanting to be wanted; some entertainers prefer to test that through demands. I felt sorry for Frank Sinatra because his success wasn't booming for him. I think he constantly required confirmation he was needed and feared no longer being wanted. The essence of his soul is lost in the loneliness of show business. Being famous, everyone he encountered knew him, but he was still so lonely because they didn't know him, and he didn't know them. And you don't trust people who only know you because you are well-known. You’re lonely and looking for genuine people. I don't think Frank could find authenticity in his fans because he couldn't find his pure self, and that's not his fault because show business can absorb your anchor. His way of stability was to create ultimate, even by manipulating his future encounters with people by requiring unnecessary demands, such as not looking at him. He probably felt gratification knowing you had to look down or to the side when walking past him. He put up a wall hiding himself, but on stage, you would never sense that social dyslexia. I loved his show and watched parts of it from the light booth whenever possible. His captivating stage persona didn't need an introduction. In the 80’s, he was quite a bit older, but on stage, he continued to be a lady's man, captivating their attention as he sang and swooned.
Frank Sinatra Junior was the opposite of his father when I briefly met him, extending gracious invitations to his show for us and our crew. He even gave some pointers about the venue to make our show smoother. A regular guy unaffected by fame. So I was curious, reading his tech rider as I sat on the floor next to the ghost light. Nothing unusual I could find, like requiring glamourous dressing rooms or plates to throw around and break, Lol. No M&Ms or even Mountain Dew or Diet Coke. I believe ours was more detailed than his because of the logistics of a magic show. I yawn as my visit to the stage comes to an end. I say good night to this space, which provides me a place to make magic for my guests, everyone I love, as I walk past the empty seats to find my hotel room, knowing that tomorrow they will be filled with people wanting magic in their lives. I get to be the one to wave my wand. My soul feels satisfied. What more can I ask for in this showbiz life? Bobby Darin's song enters my mind as I close the theater door leaving alone the ghost light.
“Off comes the make-up
Off comes the clown's disguise
The curtain's fallin'
The music softly dies
But I hope you're smilin'
As you're filin' out the door
'Cause as they say in this biz
That's all there is, there isn't any more
We've shared a moment
And as the moment ends
I got a funny feelin'
We're parting now as friends
Your cheers and laughter will linger after
They have torn down these dusty walls
If I had this to do again, and the evening were new again
I would spend it with you again but now the curtain falls
Your cheers and laughter will linger after
They've torn down these dusty walls
People say I was made for this
Nothin' else would I trade for this
And just think I get paid for this
Good night, ladies and gentlemen, and God love you“
An interesting peek behind the curtain. The glamour is onstage, where there is much of it; before that is a lot of work and monotony, especially the travel.
Travelling, constantly, being on the road, is hard on the body and on the mind. When I was young, as an engineer, I did it for business for about 10 years. Airport, hotel, business meeting, business supper with clients. Repeat.
Sure, I met some wonderful people, but I had enough of the travel routine. Some people love it, but not me. I am truly a homebody Moreover, I think it eventually catches up to you. From my experience, perhaps limited, I found it an unhealthy way to live.
Loved it! Lonely but fulfilling world you paint. Stories about Sinatra, dressing rooms & Sammy Davis were fascinating. Great ending with Bobby Darin's song.