The Suit That Served
THE SUIT THAT SERVED
And, here’s my story
A good part of our January was spent in Buffalo. Bluesy Buffalo winters. We were playing at the Shea Theatre—a sumptuous house designed by Louis Comfort Tiffany and one of the most beautiful in the country. But, the winter doldrums of cabin fever were upon me and I had a particularly challenging matinee that afternoon. Dedicated as I like to think I am, I was experiencing one of those sinking ‘what’s it all about’ moments that sometimes come after several weeks into what you know will be a long run ahead. I remember leaving the stage door quickly and rather slumped over. I loved the whole ritual of signing autographs at the stage door as people tried to figure out who had played what as they watched us exit in our street clothes. But, I was guilty of making a too harsh retreat this particular time.
I felt it best to just dash back to the Double Tree Hotel for a quick between shows nap. But, as I was escaping I started to hear some hurried footsteps behind me. So, I turned around just to see what the commotion was about. A woman was running towards me with a quizzical look on her face. As I found myself rooted on the spot, she came to me and excused herself in advance for having possibly made a mistake—but was I the actor who played Cogsworth?
I told her that yes, I was indeed the guy—and she asked if it would be at all possible to return to the theatre’s parking lot and say hello to her son. Well, flattery found my spirits rising—I mean—how could I resist meeting this young man after having made such an impression on him?
So, I remember zigzagging our way through the exiting traffic and our moving towards a larger van than I expected to see parked alone in the lot. And as we got closer I began to have a creeping sense of something more than I’d expected. Just an instinct I had. But, an emotionally loaded one. And as we were getting closer to the van, and now that this woman—this mom—was feeling more secure with my having agreed to join her—she began to tell me her son’s story.
That his lifeline had always been a breathing apparatus that completely surrounded him. They had made plans to see the musical expecting to have a nice afternoon’s entertainment. But, somehow—and unexpectedly—it brought her son to life. Of all the characters plights that the musical represents in its plot line—he identified most with mine—with Cogsworth’s. When he saw my transformation from clock to being human again he recognized the possibility of something new. Something he’d evidently not shared with his parents before. Hope. And freedom. His parents recognized this. And that was the reason for their request. For their son to see me. As human. I was dumbstruck.
I couldn’t think of a thing to say to her. She walked me to the van’s door and her husband slid it open, said hello and introduced me to their beautiful son. He was probably in his early teens. He didn’t say hello. Perhaps he was unable to for any number of reasons. He just stared at me. And I had all I could do to hold it together. I introduced myself. There was a held silence between us for a moment. They thanked me. And they were gone. It was an instant that’s held the length of a lifetime. I was pretty much locked on the spot as they drove away—mother and father waving back to me—their son held in place restricted by his lifeline of tubes and wires.
I promised myself then and there that I would never again question the potential power we have as creatives—as actors--as celebrants. If even a handful of people choose to surrender themselves to what we commit to—and with our commitment comes our credibility whether amateur or professional—there’s the possibility of catharsis being mined. And that gift ricochets back to us. It’s in the air that we share with an appreciative audience. And, in this time of a pandemic—it’s sorely missed by those of us who love and thrive inside of that special communion.
I thank God that I turned around to meet that woman and to forcibly break away from the torpid state of mind I had that late afternoon. I certainly don’t remember taking the nap I’d intended to. I’d experienced the catharsis myself this time. Being led to that young man was the highlight of that entire year. And being privileged to be human at the end of each performance—well, it suddenly began to haunt me. Stay human. Be well. Remain engaged.
