Chapter 4: Childhood Drama

In the years before my folks divorced, my father worked as Professor of Drama at Ithaca College in Ithaca, New York. Charles Randall carried with him the reputation of being one of the best directors in the Department of Theater Arts. Students faced lengthy waiting lists if they wished to enroll in his classes.

Final exams came in the form of full court performances of major plays such as The King and I, Oklahoma!, Carousel, South Pacific, Brigadoon, Our Town, and more.

Every play featured all the elements of an actual Broadway production: actors acted, set designers designed, and make-up artists did their thing. A full-sized symphony orchestra supplied by students from the School of Music accompanied each performance.

I got a front row seat to everything. I sat or slept through scores of first readings and hundreds of rehearsals and dress rehearsals. My dad loved the theater and he hoped if he plunged me headfirst into his world, I would grow to love drama as he did.

The theater company became a second set of parents. Bedtime was whenever I fell asleep. Much to the delight of my frugal father, the actors and extras served as an unpaid babysitting detail.

My father drafted me, at age six, to play an extra in the King and I. My tiny part required hours of makeup application to change my pale complexion to the olive tan hue of a native child of Siam. With makeup and costume I became one of the children whom Anna had been hired to teach.

I still remember my lines: “Please, Miss Anna, do not go to England.”

Over dinner the evening before opening night, my father chatted about the play and made a passing reference to the actor who played the king. The man had been born with a genetic condition resulting in his birth with six fingers and six toes. Surgeons removed the extra fingers but the doctors left the surplus toes intact.

Such a thing must be impossible. My dad must have been pulling my leg.

On opening night, I was one of five or six children on stage bowing down prostrate before the barefoot king. When the star of the show planted his foot a few inches in front of my nose, I counted and in shocked amazement, yelled out, “Holy crap! He’s got six toes!”

The unauthorized line brought the house down and an abrupt end to my fledgling acting career. At the age of six, I was fired from my first job.

Either by osmosis or by proximity, I absorbed the background, culture, and flavor of the performing arts. I had almost unlimited access to all the workings behind the curtain. My childhood experiences gave me a cultural literacy far beyond my peers.

Watching costume designers stitch wardrobes from scratch and scenery designers create elaborate sets using nothing but paint, plywood, imagination, and canvas is an amazing experience.