Arthur Noel Johnson, Jr.

He was called Noel because his Dad was Arthur and he did not want to be called Junior. I remember as a child he called his Father, Arthur Noel Johnson, by the initials A.N. Noel had a special relationship with A.N. who was a strong smart man of great character with no more than a 3rd grade education. Noel went on to get his Masters degree from Texas Tech University. It made A.N. very proud. Of the four sons that A.N. had, Noel was present at the end as his Dad lost a bout with cancer. I believe of all his sons A.N. favored Noel the most, because he was after all his junior.
Noel was my Dad and the first manager I had in my career. He drove me to shows when I was too young to get a drivers license. On the way home we would analyze the show from the stand point of strengths and weaknesses. He loved to act in that capacity and told me that he was sad when I became old enough to get to shows by myself.
Dad booked the first show I ever did for the Abernathy Lions Club, because he was the president of the organization at the time. I remember at eleven I told him that I did not think I was good enough to perform for the Abernathy Lions Club with my fledgeling act and he said, "Jay you don't have to be that good to perform for the Lions Club."
In some ways I lost my Dad 17 years ago when he suffered a stroke that left him unable to communicate. For a man as eloquent and intelligent as him it was a great struggle to be robbed of his communication skills. He continued to communicate with us even though it was a struggle. He could say, "I love you" with great clarity while not being able to articulate much else.
Dad was a mathematical savant and taught Algebra in high school after a career in the Navy and a recall to the Korean war. He continued to climb the ladder of a teaching career to became the youngest Superintendent of Schools in Texas. He quit his job as Superintendent to form his own securities business and continue to work with schools as the financial advisor for countless school districts. He helped finance more schools for Texas students than companies hundreds of times the size of his own.
At 89 years old he had grown weary of the fight just to communicate and get around. The strong Navy officer had lost too much weight for his 6' 2" form and the struggle became too much. He did not like hospitals nor doctors and did not want to linger. But when the pain from fluid on his lungs became too much to bear he agreed to go to the emergency room.
Six years ago Dad made the trip to be there for my show off Broadway at the Atlantic Theatre and two years later for the opening night of my Broadway run at the Helen Hayes. He never tired of seeing me perform and it was obvious to me even though he could not tell me in so many words. It was in his eyes. He was there to see my show at the Eiseman Theatre in Richardson a short distance from his house in February of this year. I got to introduce him and my Mom from stage. He was truly beaming back stage.
Tonight at half hour before opening night of my Rochester run, I got a call from my sister. The fluid in my Dad's lungs was worse, his heart was racing out of control and they had transferred him to the ICU. Mom and my sister told the doctor that he did not want to be kept alive artificially and the decision was made to make him comfortable and not resuscitate. As I talked to my Mom from such a long distance away, my Dad opened his eyes, closed them again and passed away. It was a very surreal perspective to experience such an event. As the realization hit all of us my phone ran out of battery power and lasted only long enough for me to say I love you to my Mom. It was ten minutes before I was due on stage.
There was no doubt that this show would be done for my Dad watching from a vantage point that I could not comprehend. I wanted to do the best show I could knowing that he was there. In some way I was glad that I had to concentrate on the moment and not dwell on what had just happened. Dad has always admired my professionalism and my ability to do my job under any circumstance. He would call that a "true" professional.
I knew the final scene in my show talking about the death of my mentor Arthur Sieving ( Yes the name Arthur is very much ingrained in my family history) would be difficult to deliver on this night. What I had not realized is the number of times that I refer to my Dad in the context of the script. The references were like mental land mines that took me by surprise every time. For my Dad, I got through it but there were moments I know the audience did not understand. I did not understand the emotions that ambushed me myself.
The show ended and it was time to let go and I sobbed uncontrollably backstage. My stage manager John Ivy was the only one who knew. He allowed me the space to decompress and sent unknowing opening night well wishers away so that I did not have to pull up and be a professional off stage. The ride back to the house was longer than usual until I was able to plug my phone into a power source and call my wife.
I know that Daddy will never miss another one of my shows, but I will miss him forever and a day. Good night Lt. J.G. Arthur Noel Johnson, Jr. mission accomplished with honors.
Jay

Memorial Day

I live in the flight pattern of Van Nuys Airport which is home to the Antique Air force, vintage WWII planes that still fly for special occasions such as Memorial Day.  Moments ago a formation of five P-51 Mustangs growled through the sky above my house. It is rare you get to see a P-51 in action and it is even more rare to see five flying in military formation. It makes me think about what this day is all about. 

My Dad, Lt. Arthur Noel Johnson, Jr., served in WWII as a radar specialist on several Aircraft Carriers in the United States Navy, and because of his specialty in radar and navigation was recalled to serve in the Korean War.
He was on a ship and away at war when my Brother was born, and I learned to talk while he was away for the Korean war.

Dad had four brothers and no sisters.  My mom had three brothers and no sisters. When he returned from active duty Dad had two sons of his own.  At the time it seemed as if the Johnson's could produce only Y chromosome's, but Mom and Dad really wanted a daughter. They were contemplating adopting a Korean girl when Mom got pregnant. As things work out my sister was born. I have never let her forget that she was just that close to being Asian. 

Lt. Johnson - My Hero.

When he finally resigned his commission Dad had this uniformed picture taken and three copies made, one for each one of his kids. This is my copy of that picture on the right. It is not the way I remember my Dad, who passed almost two years ago, because in this picture he is not smiling. The way I remember it, he was always smiling and if he wasn't that meant I was probably in big trouble.

We remember our heroes who died in the armed services today, but there were many men and women who returned from combat duty. They are heroes too. People like my Dad who came back home to make the country he fought for better. 

My Dad was an excellent story teller and his Navy stories were some of my favorites. Growing up there was a framed picture of the Shanghai Harbor printed on silk hanging above my folk's piano.  It was a reproduction of the  late 1940's Shanghai sky line from the perspective of the bay.  In my mind I can still recall Dad looking intently at that picture from time to time.  From the stories I loved so much I knew where he "was" in those moments.

He was on the flight deck of the aircraft carrier USS Blue Ridge with his binoculars. The Ship's time was different from mainland China time. One of the tallest buildings in Shanghai had a clock tower. By checking the time on the tower clock though his binoculars he could calculate what time it was back home. He would try to visualize what his young family was doing at that moment.  If he was on duty it  usually meant we were sound asleep half-way around the world, safe because of him.  

I don't think he needs those binoculars anymore, and he is sailing a ship where time doesn't exist, and just like when he was away from us on the Blue Ridge, I can't see him.  But I know he's "over there" still on duty, thinking about what I am doing, still making it safe for me, and the rest of his family.

I will always remember him on Memorial Day and everyday.

As you were,

Jay

Human Cargo
I have seen all the movies on board, found every part of the ship of interest, participated in an organized game of darts and tried to be a passenger as much as I can. The small cabin is closing in on me and I am getting ready to go home. I won't work for another three days and then I will do four shows in three days. It would be nice to so spread them out over the time, but this is the gig. Hard to complain about being forced to be a passenger on a cruise ship, but it is no vacation to me. I guess I can be grateful we are not being towed to San Diego by tug boats and we have hot food and hot water unlike the Carnival Splendor that caught fire this week. Even more I am glad on this Veterans day that I am not doing a job that could get me shot and killed in the deserts of Afghanistan or Iraq. I hope that we can bring everyone home soon and stop this war once and for all. I really thought we had learned a lesson in Nam. But here we are stuck in a war that has now gone on longer.
In thinking about Veterans day,here is a shout out to Lt. Arthur Noel Johnson,Jr.a naval officer who served in World War II and was called back for service in the Korean "conflict". That is when we decided not to call them wars because it scared people. Lt. Johnson served as a radar officer on several Air Craft Carriers including the USS Blueridge. I am sure he was a tough and caring officer, because that is the kind of Dad he is. I think of you every time I look at what seems to be an endless ocean, form all of us who live in the USA, Thanks Dad.
Jeff the juggler tells me that tomorrow in Aruba there is a Starbucks near the dock that has free wifi. He plans to be there for the day. I will check it out because I need to have more practice logging on to hotspots with the new Ipad. But mostly it will be great to have a sense of normalcy sitting in a Starbucks with a laptop. I have found that no matter where you are all Starbucks are the same. I can for the moment pretend that I am blocks away from my house rather than twelve hours flight away. The free Internet is just a bonus.
Ray Cousins is playing piano in the Lounge. Ray used to be musical director for Frank Sinatra, and has great stories about those days. He is turning sixty in a few days. Some lady came up to him the other evening and ask if he was the piano player on the Titanic. Turned out she meant the movie with Leonardo De Caprio a few years ago, but the initial shock was not taken well by a man who will soon join the sexagenarians. Ray swears we have know each other for years. I only performed once with Sinatra years ago,probably when he was conducting, but all I remember is Sinatra. I figure everything else associated with that gig has been eclipsed by the memory of being with the chairman of the board. Sorry Ray.
...---...---...---...---...--- Time has stopped and I have trouble remembering what my sleep number is for my bed at home.
As you were,
Jay

My Dad

I was reminded that there are a couple of mistakes in the blog about my Dad on Thursday. Dad was a detail guy and would want it to be precise. Particularly when it comes to numbers. Dad rarely made a mistake with numbers and kept complicated bond maturity rates and schedules in his head. On a bond issue once which had been calculated by a computer Dad looked down a column of seven digit numbers on a spread sheet and said that they were incorrect. The young financier who had prepared the numbers was insistent they were right because they were computer generated. After Dad would not give up the numbers were recalculate and found to be wrong to the exact value Dad said they were. The young man had used a formula that was not correct in this case. Dad did not use a computer at all in his career. The only machine he would use was a floating decimal Frieden calculator. It was a mechanical machine that looked more like a typewriter or cash register than a calculator. It used to scare me as a kid; it made noise and numbers flipped by like a crank style movieola.
In my blog for Dad I said he was 89. That is not right... he was 88 on his last birthday in June. I also quoted his military rank as Lt. J.G. The J. G. stands for Junior Grade which is a step or two below the actual full Lt. rank that he actually attained in the Navy.
I think the JG stuck in my mind because of a trophy that occupied an honored spot on the family bookshelf. It is a silver loving cup engraved by the crew of the USS Montrose and given to "Lt. J. G. Arthur Noel Johnson, Jr. for service above and beyond the call of duty in the battle of BeNo Straights." In a story that is right out of Mr. Roberts, Dad took flack from a commanding officer to save his crew from his cruel abuse. The Captain was given to telling the men, "There will BE NO liberty, there will be no movie" until certain duties were performed to his satisfaction. In fact when the play and subsequent movie Mr. Roberts came out, several people contacted Dad to see if he had sold his story to the author. Except for the ending, and a different class of ship, it was the same story. The Captain would not let Dad transfer from the ship. Instead of the men holding a forgery contest to sign the Captains name on a transfer as was depicted in the movie, the actual event was a little more theatrical.
Dad and another officer were sure the Captain was not rational, but neither one could get officials to take a look. All communications to channels were censored by the Captain. No one could get word to the shore officers.
One evening when Dad was officer of the deck, his friend and fellow officer requested permission to go ashore. His name was not on the list to go ashore, but Dad gave him the salute and he boarded the launch dingy. The Captain saw the launch from the ship and ran to Dad to see the list. When he found out who it was going ashore and that the officer was not on the list he grabbed the radio and ordered the launch back to the ship immediately. The radio message was never received by the launch crew and Dad's friend was able to get ashore and report what was going on. Dad was soon transferred and it was discovered that the Captain had a brain tumor that was causing his abusive irrational behavior. He was eventually removed from command and died soon after from the tumor.
Years later when Dad and his officer friend reconnected recalling the event, the true story was told. The crew had heard the radio command by the Captain to return to the ship, but the officer drew his 45 cal. service weapon and told them to disregard the broadcast. They knew something was wrong with the Captain and never reported what really happened. They probably did not need the 45 as incentive, but the fleeing officer was taking no chances.
Dad loved to tell his Navy stories and I loved to listen to them over and over if I could. It was heartbreaking to know that the last couple of decades of his life he was unable to tell them to me again. He was a numbers guy not a writer and never wrote them down. But the family will continue to tell them to his Great Grandchild who is due in February.
Daddy I will never forget. You made me love stories and yours were the best.
As you were,
Jay