Venting

I usually don't attend the vent conVENTion in Ft.Mitchell, KY because it happens at the same time of the year as the Bohemian Grove Encampment. Since I wasn't at the Grove this year and really can't discuss the Bohemian Club anyway, here is my essay on "What I did last summer".

If you don't know Vent Haven museum or haven't heard about the ConVENTion held in Ft. Mitchell, KY each year, you probably think ventriloquism is just juggling with your vocal chords.

The short version of a very long story is: William Shakespeare Berger was a businessman who became fascinated by ventriloquism at an early age. His collection of vent figures, letters, and photos of ventriloquists grew to the largest of it's kind and is now a museum open to the public. For more information go to: Vent Haven Museum.

This year I donated some of my memorabilia to Vent Haven including a couple of my early partners, posters, pictures and the actual Spaulding I used on Broadway. I attended the the induction of my display into the museum, which took place convention week, and performed for the attendees as well.

Lisa Sweasy and Jen Dawson, the curators of the museum, did an incredible job of sorting, coordinating, documenting and displaying the "stuff". Above is a picture of me admiring the first Squeaky and Friendly Firefly.

It is a very odd thing to walk around a display of your life's work. There is an odd sense of detachment but "time bomb memories" suck you into a recollection very quickly dispelling neutrality. At one moment the observer becomes the observed and interest turns to embarrassment. There are pictures that graphically point to the realization that I am not 15 years old anymore. Puppets older than my children, and letters I wrote to Mr. Berger 40 year ago. It all seems so heady to be the subject of a museum display, but it is also frightening. The icons of your life seems to objectify your own mortality.

The most heart grabbing piece of the collection is a letter Lisa found in Squeaky's case. It is from my Mom to me talking about the adventure we had creating Squeaky. She placed it there when she sent me the puppet decades ago.

It speaks to all parents who have a "creative" child and the special skills required to keep them motivated, encouraged and out of trouble. If my Mom had not been so incredibly imaginative, creative and artistic; my life would be very different now. If performing was not there to occupy my dyslexic brain it would have surely lead me to a less than satisfactory life. That letter from my Mom touched and encouraged every parent who attended the convention with their child.

Lisa said that maybe the letter was too personal and I would want to take it back. It is personal but what it says is universal. It belongs with that character for all time. Lisa assured me that Mom's letter will be permanently linked to my exhibit. That is a perfect tribute to the real artist in my family.

Jeff Dunham was at the convention. He rarely misses it. I did not try to recruit him for the Bohemian Club so he will probably be free to attend again. The Sunday after the convention he had a show in Louisville a couple hours away. Since I had never seen his arena show I rode with him, his girlfriend Audrey, Brain Haner (guitar guy and opening act) Brian's wife Suzy, Robin the road manager and a little dog named Roady on the tour bus to the Louisville arena.

This is not the venue for a review of Jeff's show. I'm not sure I could give an accurate unbiased account. I am way to close to Jeff and his chosen art form to see the forrest. However, I had a great time watching from the audience with Tom Ladshaw in a roped off VIP section of leather easy chairs brought from the traveling green room of the Dunham road machine.

After the show we had dinner and flew back to Encino on Jeff's plane. It sure beat the two hour lay over in Chicago I was facing flying commercial. Jeff dropped me off at my house since we now live on the same street.

All in all it was a very interesting weekend, very comparable to a weekend at the Grove.... but I still can't talk about that.
As you were,
Jay