Back to Show Biz

No political injustices outed.  No religious philosophy or devotion discussed, just a story about "the BIZ".

I find that I have come to that point in my career (perhaps my life) when remembering and writing about an experience is almost better than having to do it.  Like yesterday.

This is not to say that it was not fun, I had a blast, there was no pressure no stress but the reality of creating illusion is sometimes a chore.  

Hallmark Channel's show, Home and Family honored Robert Guillaume yesterday.  They gathered as many of his former co-stars from the two series he starred in as were available, and several others there via video clip to honor him. The retrospective on Robert's career in show business was concluded as Robert (Benson) Guillaume was given the "Hollywood Appreciation Award".

Those present in the Universal studio/house that is the set included, Katherine Helmond, Robert Mandan, Rene Auberjonois, Jay Johnson and Bob (me... or more accurately US) along with the dozen or so co-hosts that live in the Home and Family house.  Ted Wass, Jennifer Salt, Dianna Canova, Missy Gold and Billy Crystal made breif appearances via video messages.  They had gathered relative clips from Benson and SOAP in scenes we had done together years ago with Guillaume.  The show was heavy on SOAP clips although Benson was only on that show for two seasons while starring in his own spin off - Benson for seven years.  

Both of those shows were aired in the late 70's through the 80's.   Although it doesn't seem possible, mathematically that works out to be 38 years ago.  Time and age are very dysfunctional companions.  Thirty- eight years ago, when I was working with Robert Guillaume, I was in my late twenties.  It would be another decade before I would actually be 38 years old. Now, that is half of my life span ago.  Looking back is always a shorter trip than contemplating the future.  

SOAP had a younger cast which averaged around my age and an older cast that, well, were older. The older actors, playing our folks, were in their late 40's and early 50's at the time.  They were seasoned veterans of stage, screen and television.  They were the ones we looked to for the guidance of experience through uncharted show business waters.  It is strange to realize that I am older now than they were when we worked together.  This is especially true when this time machine of video clips transports you back to those days. There is nothing as humbling as having a split screen of yourself today looking at work you did almost 4 decades ago. I'm not sure I wish that experience on anyone. 

So here I am sitting on a couch in a fake home on the Universal Studio back lot, attempting to recreate the title shots of SOAP. I remember the original shot like it was yesterday, but today is very different from then.  My adult friends, my mentor actors and leaders shuffled on to the set in wheel chairs with walking canes and physical help.  Katherine Helmond, who was never a tall lady, seems so much shorter than my memory of Aunt Jessica Tate. Robert Mandan would no longer play the dashing philandering overstuffed Armani suite wearing Chester Tate, he would be cast as the grandfather today.  Robert Guilliaume has mostly recovered from a stroke many years ago, but he times his Wit a little more slowly and with limited physicality. I know they are all in their 80's now.  I could have looked up an exact age for each, but why would it matter anyway. This present moment is all that really matters. There have been so many from the cast who have died, it was thrilling to just be around the ones still here. 

Rene Auberjonois looks the same to me.  I have seen him more often over the last few years.  He was the only one there to represent the Benson Show family. He was just back from a trip to Australia, and that is a literal  fact.  He was jet lagged and fried. His plane landed two hours before his call time on the set. He was repeating the same calendar day in his life as he landed the day before he took off from down under.  It is another example of how time seemed to be an irrrelevant mash up, but more importantly it speaks to the trouble freinds would go through just to honor our friend Robert. 

It was one of the hottest days of the year in drought stricken Los Angeles but with a heavy dose of hummidity to make it sticky and uncomfortable. It was also the day the airconditioning failed to come on at the Johnson hacienda.  I took one shirt to wear and one to change into for the show.  Both were dripping wet the moment I put them on. 

The set for Home and Family is an actual house, well an actual movie house. It looks like the real thing except when you look up there is no ceiling nor attic. That space is filled with lights, grids for more lights, microphones and tiny airconditioning ducts that are totally ineffective against the heat from outside and the furnace blast created by the movie lights.  Even though I just put on my jacket for the takes, I had the look of a drowned New York subway rat washed up after Hurricane Sandy.  The makeup team resembled plate spinners as they ran from person to person trying to mop up and powder sweaty faces.  None of the faces seems to be as sweaty as mine.  I kept remembering that old show biz chestnut... "never let them see you sweat" - it was an impossible task to accomplish that day.  

I longed to be in a studio on the Universal Lot with fake walls, fake landscape back drops with tons of room and 30 degrees cooler than this "house". As I looked out the real window at real landscaping, on camera it looked very little different from a well painted back drop. It was hot and tight.  Along with a large regular cast, five guests (with at least one extra person to help them), gaffers, camera operators, cable pullers, sound men, stage managers, prop men, makeup ladies, segment producers wardrobe people and the set decorating crew there were maybe a hundred people crowded into a very warm crowded space.  There were even some shots outside in the yard and on the patio, so the doors needed to be open for cables.  I resorted to standing in a closet that had been converted into the sound department, just to get out of the way.  It was cozy, along with RF receivers, extra sound boards, microphones and cable there were three people claiming that space as their office.  They understood my interloping and tolerated me for a while.  

The coldest place on the lot was my dressing room trailer.  It was 40 degrees and felt like heaven.  Unfortunately it was parked a block away from the set and I was there no longer than 20 minutes over the course of the three hour shoot.  

Robert Mandan, Katherine Helmond, Robert Guillaume
(Chester, Jessica, and Benson)

They sent a car for me so I didn't have to drive. Thankfully so,  because the driver drove me through an entrance to the back area of Universal that I did not know even existed.  On our journey to the set my car passed by one of the Universal City tour trams loaded with tourists. I could hear the tour guide giving his spiel. The riders strained their necks to see who was in the back of the limo.  One person snapped a picture with an iPhone. Thank goodness the windows were heavily tinted. Their fantasies about who might be in that limo would certainly have been dashed if they had seen who it was in reality.  Once again we all participate in the illusion of fantasy even if I was miscast as the "mystery celebrity in the limo" that day.

It was all over too quickly.  I was also there to promote my DVD "Jay Johnson: The Two and Only" which I am told turned out to be a blurb on the credit line at the bottom of the screen.  It was not the reason for being there, it really was to honor Robert.
I was hot and miserable and knew that my red face was not televising well.  Puppet Bob was in perfect makeup and no shine whatsoever.  He is the poster boy for "never let them see you sweat" he never has.   I am sure that viewers watching at home felt like Bob had certainly held his age a lot better than me.  Just before we all ran for the air conditioning I snapped a quick picture of my friends on the couch. Bob Mandan made a Chester face, Katherine's smile shone as ever it did and with trophy in hand the honoree gave me a trademark sly grin. True Pros.  How lucky I am to work with them, to know them, and still be touched by their friendship.  No one said it out loud, but everyone knew it would probably be the last ever SOAP reunion celebration, I'm sorry that I didn't get a selfie with me and Bob in the picture.  But then again... I don't need a picture.. I have my memories and now have this blog to recall that special moment.  Soon it will not be about how hot it was that day, but how special it was. 

As you were,

Jay

MeVeM

MeVeM

Church and Marriage

""The World is a stage and we are mere players" said Shakespeare, so this is my monologue.  In the words of Edward Albee, "I write to know what I am talking about."

Here is what baffles me, when did "marriage" become a Christian right to grant?  And how does the recent Supreme Court ruling constitute an assault on religion, especially Christianity?

Stage note - aside:  

To circumvent a possible misunderstanding of my spiritual journey and study; and to limit comments intended to convert me or save me, let me explain.  

 I have come to my belief in the Omnipotence of Deity from conscious contemplation and serious study.  In this post I will reference Biblical passages that, in my opinion, support the thesis. They are merely footnotes. If Bible quotes are not "your thing" disregard. 

With that having been said:

ACT I

Marriage is a legal distinction.  A governmentally sanctioned contract intended to facilitate the transfer of property and create a partnership that carries accepted rights and responsibilities.  It is a license issued by a governing political body, normally the State.  The legal enactment of this contract is carried out with the public affirmation of the two parties and witnesses to that process.  The governmental body which grants the contract also authorizes several kinds of public servants to oversee the process.  They include: a judge, a court clerk, a justice of the peace, a ships captain at sea and...any recognized member of the clergy (i.e. Priest, Minister, Rabbi, Imam, Cantor or Ethical Culture Leader). They are all authorized to perform a marriage. In some states the clergy must first be certified with their own license granting them permission to do so from the State. Something akin to a notary public who is licensed to witness and verify signatures for the government. 

Organized religions of every kind have co-opted this right to perform this contract of marriage and attempted to imply that their authority for a marriage comes from God.  It clearly does not. The most elaborate wedding performed by a Bishop himself in a church with full ceremony, would not be legal if that ceremony did not include a "license" from the government.  Those couples married by a court clerk during a lunch break are equally valid as any religious ceremony... if they both have a license.  

This marriage license contract exists so that if one of the partners dies the other partner is not excluded from the possessions they both acquired together.  Simply put, because the law recognizes this union blood relatives of the deceased can not simply claim their property by inheritnce.  During the AIDS epidemic I knew of many couples who were victims of family greed.  These devoted couples saw a life time of possessions and real estate taken away from the surviving partner by blood relatives who did not "approve" of the relationship.  Since there was no license available for their bond, the property grab was totally legal.  Finally thanks to a Supreme Court decision, that never needs happen again. In fact the very case brought before the high court hinged on this very principle of survivor's rights. 

Setting property inheritance aside in the discussion of marriage, what about the bond of love itself? Isn't that marriage?

The attraction of one being to another has no explanation. Why anyone desires a relationship with anyone else is as mystical as love itself.  The need to be with another doesn't just exist for humans, it is everywhere.  Eagles, Wolves, Gibbon monkeys, French Angelfish and even Schistosoma Masion Worms mate with one partner for life. There are 7 other species we know of that are life long monogamists as well.  What drives animals to dedicate their lives to a single partner forsaking all others for life? It is the mystery of love.  In nature the mate is not always of the opposite sex, sometimes two females sometimes two males. There are certain species of worms that have no specific gender at all, yet they mysteriously bind together in some sort of love. Surely these relationships are God ordained; therefore God must have something to say about marriage. 

Well if he does have rules about marriage they don't exist in his Kingdom. At least not so, according to his earthly surrogate.  Here comes that scripture I was telling you about. It is from the word of Jesus in the book of Matthew.

Matthew 22:30

…But Jesus answered and said to them, "You are mistaken, not understanding the Scriptures nor the power of God. "For in the resurrection they neither marry nor are given in marriage, but are like angels in heaven."

Not just once but that concept is repeated again in Mark.

Mark 12:25

…Jesus said to them, "Is this not the reason you are mistaken, that you do not understand the Scriptures or the power of God? "For when they rise from the dead, they neither marry nor are given in marriage, but are like angels in heaven."

So if "marriage" is not a heavenly requirement of God, where is the authority for the Church to determine the application? Love is the only rule of heavenly relationships, like angels.  But what about love between persons of the same sex. What is the exact sex of an angel?
At this point I would expect someone to quote Leviticus 20:13 and Leviticus 18:20 as rebuttal. 
"If a man lie with another man as with a woman it is an abomination." 
Although it would seem from an absolute interpretation of this passage that lesbian couples are okay since it does not mention a woman being with another woman as with a man.  But that is not the point. 

What other abominations does the Bible point out that seem to cause less concern for God's wrath?

Proverbs 6:16 -19- There are six things that the Lord hates, seven that are an abomination to him: haughty eyes, a lying tongue, and hands that shed innocent blood, a heart that devises wicked plans, feet that make haste to run to evil, a false witness who breathes out lies, and one who sows discord among brothers.

In my thinking there are certain radio hosts that seem to make a living by sowing discord among brothers. Why does that not get people to cry abomination? In fact Proverbs is just full of abominations that don't seem to concern some people as much as some other abominations.

Proverbs 12:22  Lying lips are an abomination to the Lord, 

Proverbs 15:8  The sacrifice of the wicked is an abomination to the Lord, 

A reason to rally against capital punishment? Would seem so..

Proverbs 11:20  Those of crooked heart are an abomination to the Lord, 

Proverbs 20:10  Unequal weights and unequal measures are both alike an abomination to the Lord.

Butcher get thy thumb off thine scale...

And number one on the top ten abominations to be considered...

Proverbs 28:9  If one turns away his ear from hearing the law, even his prayer is an abomination.

So .... marriage equality is now the law. It is a legal document that protects the rights of every couple equally. It seems like God would be in favor of equality and fairness. This legal license does not threaten the Church with abomination. There seem to be plenty of ignored abominations to go around. We do not get to choose our personal favorite abominations and  "turn our ear away from the law."  If we do that "even our prayer is an abomination." 

Scene and Curtain-  

As always the opinions expressed are solely my own, not intended to be the only interpretation, nor only point of view.  I would expect yours might be different and I respect yours as you respect mine. 

Namaste

Jay

TO THE FLAG...

Eddie Izzard has a wonderful monologue from his "Dressed to Kill" DVD on the conquest of the world with "The clever use of flags".  He claims that historically invaders planted flags and pronounced invaded land conquered. When the inhabitants of the land objected stating "We live here" the invaders would say, "Do you have a flag? Then it doesn't count."

Here is the reason that routine comes to mind. Along with some incredible memories I bought back from Ireland, I also returned with a head cold. This has kept me in bed for the day with only the television as a distraction from nose blowing.   After several weeks with limited (by choice) access to American news I was carpet bombed with never ending coverage about a flag. There seems to be nothing else of concern to any journalist on any station but the fate of this antiquated furling piece of fabric atop a South Carolina State Government building. 

I get it. I understand the connection this flag has to racism, oppression and recently mass murder in a church.  But it seems to me that it has taken on a mythology unto itself. "If we just take down that flag then racism will go away in America." As if covering up a fatal wound with a bandage keeps the patient from bleeding to death. 

Oh, but America is responding to this "flag crisis" with Walmart refusing to sell the emblem followed closely by Ebay, Sears and Amazon.  And although NASCAR will not out right ban the flag at it's events it will (and this is a quote) "Discourage the use of the flag."  And the American public has responded by purchasing up all the Confederate flags they can still get, surging the demand to a 3894% increase over average sales.   

And if it really is as important as to be the front page of every newspaper in the country today, why doesn't South Carolina just not fly the flag today? That's right,  just don't hoist it up the flag pole TODAY. Unfortunately the best the demonstrations in Charleston could do is get the state congress to agree to discuss the matter later this summer. Then the measure has to pass by a two thirds majority of the locals when the national news has moved on to some other over reaction.   

I am sure that the governor of the state, who has come out in favor of removing the flag, has the ability to order state flags at "half mast" in honor of the funerals of the 9 people beginning this week.  The Confederate flag isn't even their state flag so why can't she just order that flag to be flown not just at half mast but "no mast".  

As it is now the body of South Carolina congressman/Reverend Clementa Pickney, will lie in state at the capital building while atop the building flies the very flag waved by his murderer.  Thanks Walmart but,  the only Confederate Battle Flag that matters for the next week is the one on the South Carolina Capitol.  

It is a start to sanitize the public from symbols of bigotry and racism, but that is only the symbol of the issue.  Where was the public outrage a few weeks ago when President Obama launched a Twitter feed and with in minutes there were more than a quarter of a million replies using the word "nigger". The only outrage was later when he himself used the word in an interview. Once again we obsess on the minutia of the problem.  President Obama, used the word to make the very point that Americans are avoiding.  It is not so important that we just refrain from racism in public, we have to eliminate racism at the core of our being.  

Back to the brilliance of Eddie Izzard,  since we have a flag now that we all agree symbolizes racism and hatred... why don't we have a flag that represents tolerance and acceptance.  The idea drilled into us every July 4th is that the American Flag is such a symbol.  I wish it was so, but flying a flag outside your locked door where your assault rifle is loaded and ready in case "those people" try to come around is not the answer.  In that case it is a empty piece of cloth signifying nothing of substance.

As you were,

Jay

Over Heard, Over Served, Over Seas...

Pictures convey only part of the experience of traveling. We live in a world full of sound.   I find the sounds of Ireland sticking with me as vivid memories. There is no documentation that does them justice. And they do not exist in a vacuum. Recording them is like trying to convey the scene with only one color of the spectrum. 

There were the bells of distant cathedrals in Dublin, the giggles of the childern at play near the ruins of Athenry Priory, the absolute silence of the country side interrupted by the staccato bleet of a sheep, the wind that blew across your face atop the Cliffs of Moher and the sound of music, everywhere there was music, from the pub, from the buskers of the street and even the buggy driver humming to his horse. But it is the sound of the Irish people, their charm and friendly nature which I will miss the most. 

We had to get out into the countryside of Connemara to really hear the musical lilt of the Irish accent. German and American accents seemed to donimate the cities.  The true Irish lilt was occasionally so thick I was not sure if it was English or Gaelic. I was surprised to find so much Gaelic still in use. Some of the Aran islands do not speak English even today. School children are sent there to emmerse themselve in the native language.  

That is the case at Ennis Oirr.  This is where we met our cart driver Michael and his horse Bob.  Michael looked 87 years old but told us he was actually only 67. He was born on this island of only 300 residence, and has lived there all his life.  His wife spoke no English and they never spoke to their children in any other language but Gaelic.  Michael was very difficult to understand and when he was not turned around talking to us he was singing and humming softly while encouraging Bob the horse to continue on.  He had great stories about the island and shared them as Bob pulled us around the narrow stone walled roads. At one point Bob farted loudly in our direction. It stopped all conversation (and breathing) for a moment. Without missing a beat Michael began to sing "The answer my friend is blowin' in the Wind" with the elevation of his unruly grey eyebrow. 

We Americans have a hard time with this combination of Gaelic writings and Irish accents.  Written Gaelic is difficult to even sound out. The name for their head councilman is pronounced "Tea Shock", but it is spelled "Taosingh" You can be looking at the word while someone is pronouncing it and still not connect the two.  During the intermission of a play we attended, a hurried bartender pointed to someone who bluted out his order, "Whiskey" the American tourist said.  The bartender handed him a glass of water. It was a show that locals attended and the Gaelic word for water is pronounced "wisky". It is an American mistake. An Irishman always orders a drink by brand name if he wants to have an adult beverage. A pint of Guinness or a spot of Jameson is the proper order never just a beer or a whiskey

My friend Harry asked directions of a man in Athelone. He prefaced his remarks by saying, "Are you local?" The man replied, "Well I'm here now." 

While I was taking a picture of Sandi a couple of Irish men stopped so as not to "photo bomb" my composition. I was not quite ready to take the picture so I waved them on. Instead of crossing and continuing on their journey they attempted to pose with Sandi for a moment, "I thought you were wantin' us to be in the picture." They said with a wink. 

An older couple got on the train with their luggage but there was no place to put their bags. In a serious lilt we heard the man say, "I guess we'll have to stick it up the other end." 

Americans stand out like... well foreigners for the most part.  Not so much "ugly Americans" just cluless.  I heard a twenty something girl at the Cliffs of Moher blurt out a little to loudly, "Oh My God, like, who owns this place?"

I was not immune from being a clueless American myself. I kept asking what day we were going to Calamari when the name of the town is Connemara. And on the train when the announcer would announce the stops he would alway say, "Thank you for traveling" and end with the name of the train company which is, "Larnrod Eireann"   To me, every time he said it I heard, "Thank you for traveling "neither Here nor There."

We attended a play/musical concert of poems for the 150 Birthday of WB Yeats. We did not like the performances that much and referred to it after that as the "Yeats Infection". 

I fell asleep in the back seat of the car driving to one of our destinations. It was beautiful rock wall fences and rolling meadows full of grazing livestock.  Harry asked me how I could sleep while seeing such beautiful scenery. I said without thinking, "I was counting sheep". 

But the all time best thing I heard was from Sandi as we were walking the Cliffs of Moher.  The entire vacation was the time of our lives spent with Harry and Elizabeth Anderson. Not only is Harry one of the funniest people I have ever known, he is also my best friend.  At one point Sandi said to Harry in all seriousness, "I can laugh or I can walk but I can't do both at the same time." It was the naked truth.  There were many, many times we had to just stop walking because we all were laughing so much. 

Although we had our darts we never got to play a game at a pub.  The girls were not so much into it and believe it or not, dart boards were harder to find when distracted by a well poured pint of Smithwicks and Murphy's.  Harry and I played another game we bought at a local toy store called "story cubes".  It is a series of 9 dice with various pictures on each face.   The game involves rolling the dice and making up a story that includes the suggested actions on the dice.  We sat together at the nearest pub and played "by the pint".  I do not remember laughing that hard in a very long time, if ever.  What an experience of beauty, love and laughter. All things Irish as far as I can tell.

As you were,

Jay

 

Dublinia

Only in Ireland, Dublin specifically would you find a church on the grounds of St. James Gate Brewery. But then again this happens to be where they brew Guinness.  Arthur Guinness is a virtual Saint in the city. I am surprised that there is no Catholic mass conducted using Guinness instead of wine.   

They sing his praises on every tour and especially at the Brewery tour. 

During a trip to New Grange which is about an hour out of Dublin, an American from Philidelphia asked if we had been on the Guinness tour.  The tip off was the Guinness hat and sweatshirt I was wearing at the time. He asked, "On the tour do they have a place where you can sit and have a pint?"  I laughed out loud and said, "The entire Guinness Storehouse is one large bar." That is not entirely true.  It is actually a gathering of Guinness resturants, stores and "consumption areas" in what can only be considered a Mall dedicated to an original grog called Porter Extra Stout which Aurhur introduced in 1759.  The rest as they say is Irish History.  It is odd for a guy like me who grew up in a very dry area of Texas to see people waiting in line with a glass of beer in their hands. I adapted to the custom very quickly. 

One of the best moments of Guiness day was the "connoisseur bar".  We would not have known it was available if friends had not told us about it.  It is a beautiful quiet bar isolated from the "theme park" aspect of the rest of the tour. A Guiness expert bartender gives history, stories, and most importantly samples of the Guinness product line called "variants".  And of course we are taught the proper way to pour a pint of Guinness. There are six steps in the process and it takes 119.5 seconds to perform correctly. Although it takes a couple of times to get it 100% right, newby Guinness bartendwers like myself are allowed to drink their mistakes.  Here is a picture of my second attempt, notice the extreme concentration on my face.  

Is that dedication to the art of Guinness? or a stuper caused by some other reason?  The answer is both. The dedication to the art of Guinness is supported by the stupor caused by perfecting the art of Guinness. 

Of course this was only one day in a couple of weeks in Ireland.  It is as beautiful as I was always told it would be. No wonder why green is so closely associated with Ireland. Everything is green, and so many kinds of green. And Dublin is the city of writers. James Joyce, Bram Stoker, Oscar Wilde (to name only a few). The inhabitants value the arts and there are book stores... actual books being sold there, on almost every corner of the city. I don't know my heritage.  I have never gone on Ansestry.com, the only thing I have ever been is Texan. However, I have such an affinity for this island Country I plan to forge my ansestry to make myself Irish. 

As I write this Sandi and I are on the train to Galway to meet my best friend and his wife.  So far the vacation has just been a warm up for the fun to come.  Erin go Braless....  lock the pubs and hide the darts but keep the Jameson flowing.

As you were,

Jay

New York My Lady

New York City is a wonderful friend. If it has gender I suppose I think of her as a lady. A lady that I lived with for a while and occasionally come back to visit. She always puts on make up and throws a party when she knows I am returning. Oh, I know it is not just for me, she dresses up for all her old boy friends.  But she has this way of making us all think we are the only one in her life. It is an illusion that can be busted by just looking around at the sheer number of people here to see her.  

Not to say that she is always perfect; behind the makeup those who know her well can see the beauty marks, but the familiarity of those imperfections make you feel at home.  You really don't know her if you haven't seen her naked.  She always seems to  deliver perfect weather when I come, especially when I am traveling with my wife. NYC always wants to make my wife jealous and remind her that there is a competition for my attentions. I reason that it is because I am one of her favorites.  It is my own self-delusion. I know she can be fickle and a consumate tease. 

This time of year she holds the party of all parties, The Tony Awards.  This is an occasion to celebrate her adopted children. Some think of them as the "special kids", those actors, singers, gypsys, designers and yes even a ventriloquist who have come to bask in the Great White way of her extroverted charms. This theatre gang is a unique club but inclusive of all who seek after and discover that light. I was lucky enough to be invited into that circle several years ago and return to share in the celebration when I can. 

What I love most about the grand lady called New York City is her energy.  Whatever you want, whenever you want it, she has it available.  She is the perfect hostess but not a cheap date; why do you come back if you can't afford the cover charge.  

This time is no more special than the last time, but each time recalls the best time and makes the current time seem special. However, as I walk down 7th Avenue something is different. One of the regulars is no longer here.  The Ed Sullivan Theater hosts neither Ed nor David Letterman.  It is sad to see the marquee lacking the iconic Late Show logo.  The lady has a a way of erasing any physical trace of past affairs even long term engagements.  The Helen Hayes Theatre, my home for a while, is lacking an occupant as well.  I want to beg her to let me come back and do my show there once again, at least until the next occupant needs the space. But it is not the way the Lady will have it.  It is enough that I had a turn and got to dance at the party. She gave me my reward. It is the Tony Award her ultimate gift. It sits upon my mantel and spins at my whim reminding me not to be greedy. There are so many others waiting to experience her magic; it is  huburis and nostalgia that keep me from understanding.  

And that is really the bottom line.  I did not leave New York, she just told me it was time to go. She was ready to move on but I had not yet reached that point. She has so many suitors, but for me it  will forever be an unrequited love. And in my moments of clarity I know it is the best for both of us. We will always have memories of the good times and none that were bad. 

What more can you ask of an old friend?

As you were,

Jay

Caitlyn Jenner?

While the world was clicking on pictures of the July cover of Vanity Fair magazine to see pictures of the new born sexagenarian Jenner, I was obsessing over another story in the news. 

It seems that the TSA failed to stop 95% of the items that were smuggled through security at major airports.  Fortunately the guys attempting to smuggle the items aboard were on our side and working to improve the system.  However, 95% is a dismal failure at protection of the flying public.

How many heads are we allowed to carry on?

As anyone who reads this blog knows, I am not a fan of the TSA as an organization.  I have always thought they were rude, inconsiderate, minimum wage earners who assume all passengers are guilty before they walked barefooted though the metal detector. As much as I thought they could improve their "bedside manner", at least I thought the system was working.  

Now we find out that not only are they rude and ignorant, they are also incompetent and  ineffective as a deterrent.  So.... why are we putting up with this invasion into our rights if it is only 5% effective in keeping the traveling public safe?

My name sake Jeh Johnson, head of Homeland Security, vowed he would "get it fixed".  I hope he can. Although one would think that 14 years of draconian practice would have given us a better system by now.  How much longer do you need?  The reason I'm asking is I am flying coast to coast the end of the week, could you get the TSA success rate to a passing grade before then?
  

Here is the problem as I see it in airports across the country. There are three kinds of TSA agents employed to search us travelers. 

1) The tough guy rent-a-cop.  This is a person who can't make it into the police force for whatever reason so they decided they can be authoritative and a little bit of a bully at the Airport.

2) The Couch potato screener.  These are over weight humans who would be sitting at home watching a video screen anyway so why not get paid to do it. The show on the airport television is not as interesting, but then again they don't have to pay any attention.  

3) The Bored dropout. Being a TSA agent sounds better than "fry cook at Wendy's". As soon as they find any other job they will be gone and can't wait until that moment happens. 

Yeah I know that not all TSA agents fall in these categories.  I have even met some that seem responsible, polite and competent. But 95% failure to stop deadly items from getting on planes is unacceptable. That means it is not just the "staff" that is not working, the entire system is a failure. 

So could we please pay more attention to a TSA make over than an aging athlete's gender make over?The TSA directly affects the lives of thousands of people, while the "Jenner gender" affects only one. 

As you were,

Jay

Judgement Day...

I started writing this blog when I knew I was on my way to do "Jay Johnson: The Two and Only" on Broadway. (Cheap plug: It is STILL available at Amazon.com - and iTunes- and even HULU... I will be hocking the DVD on the streets of Van Nuys soon.)  My blog was an attempt to take my friends and relatives on the same unique Broadway journey I was on at the time. It was all new to me and every day brought a new experience to write about.  In New York I felt like Ernest Hemingway journalizing about a foreign land.  I still find New York City the ultimate place for a writer to do research. 

Being semi retired in Encino, California rather than doing 8 shows a week on Broadway in New York makes unique experiences harder to stumble onto.  It's harder to find things to write about than it is to crank the blog posts out. I sometimes feel like the social events reporter for the Muleshoe Texas Weekly Journal.  So if  any reader is confused about the editorial direction this blog you are not alone. It is not my intention to become preachy nor political in these blogs.  I write what's on my mind and for the last year or so my thoughts have turned inward. Thus the blogs have less to do with the short picture than the long view.  But I digress..  

This blog is just to set the record straight about an essay on Pat Robertson I wrote a couple of days ago.  Although I do not agree with his politics nor his lifestyle I did come down hard on a man I have never met.  I called him judgemental and still hold to that opinion, but realize that by tagging him with that label I am being judgemental myself. I am now in a quandary; how to do call some one judgemental and not prove that you are as well?  

It's like that paradox "Can God create a rock too heavy for him to pick up?" For me that one is easier to deal with. The trick is in the question. If you assume an anthropomorphic God who magically makes things like rocks appear; and this superman God is all powerful you can not resolve the "heavy rock" paradox. 

Back to Pat Robertson for a moment. His philosophy is that of a humanlike God who creates rocks that impede your progress or stepping stones to guide your way depending on his mood. He judges and condemns creations, has favorite people that he loves more and tolerates demons that he hates. This is where Rev. Rob and I split paths. Anytime you attempt to explain God in terms of what a human would do or what a human would think, that explanation is profoundly wrong.  

Sometimes when I hear evangelicals explaining the wrath of God or how God has blessed the Friday night Football team with a win, I think they are talking about Zeus from ancient mythology not an Omnipotent, Omniscient Deity.  The synonym for "Supreme Being" is not "Super Man" although to hear some Christian Scholars talk you might not get that distinction.   

Any human concept of God is false. Any time we rationalize an event in terms of what God was thinking is blasphemy.  Human intelligence is not sufficient to comprehend God nor his power. God doesn't get mad, nor jealous, nor weary, nor vengeful nor is God defined by any human emotion or terminology.  God is not a He nor a She nor any other quality that a human understands. 

So back to the rock. God CAN'T create a rock that God can't pick up because God only creates ideas of himself. In metaphoric terms God can not be separated from the rock because the concept of a rock can not exist outside of the consciousness of God.  Therefore the human idea of being separated from something like a rock and the need to pick it up is a human delimna not a spiritual one. 

So rather than judge a guy on what he believes and become part of judgement itself, why not discuss the ways our thinking differs.  Explaining the process of our thinking will explain the results of our perceptions. In computer programing terms... "Shit in shit out".  

So Pat Robertson, sorry if I judged you. We just think differently that is all. I will keep attempting to explain my philosophy.  And I as hear the explanation of yours, I can't help but think you are simply restating the concept of Roman Paganism to a television generation. 

As you were,

Jay

Pat Robertson on Texas Weather

In the past, self proclaimed prophet of "Thou shalt nots" Pat Robertson has waisted no time in proclaiming God's punishment on sinners. He is very quick in equating a natural disaster with the wrath of God. Usually he takes the opportunity to say that God has sent a hurricane or a drought or a flood to an area of the country as a sign of his wrath toward their actions.  Hurricane Sandy hitting the north east coast was, in his Holy opinion, a sign that God did not like the idea that gays could marry. Katrina was sent to New Orleans because God hates sinners. He heard there were some hanging around Bourbon Street.  Drought on the west coast has been tagged as punishment for all our "Godless leanings" here in Los Angeles.

Flooded Six Flag Roller coster DFW.

Texas has just experienced some of the worst weather and floods in its history. Yet not one word from the good pundit Robertson. It seems that when weather comes to a place that holds with his limited thinking it is "just nature".  When natural disaster hits a place Pat doesn't agree with it is God sending a message. And of course the idea of climate change is never mentioned in his ministry. 

Come on Pat, where is your condemnation? Why are you not claiming that God is punishing Texas? Pick a reason Pat, Texas has been outspoken about so many social and political issues there are several to be condemned for.  If you think Texas is on the right side of immigration, abortion, and gay marriage then why is God sending Biblical floods?  Isn't a flood God's preferred way to thin the herd and start all over? Why wasn't Ted Cruz given the command to build a big boat?

The problem is, Pat, you think God was made in your image. When you are displeased or disgusted, God must be as well.  Your judgement is based on the idea that it is in agreement with your personal preferences and then you apply that same bias judgment to Deity.  You may have fooled your money contributing masses that you are a man of God, but if God is as judgmental, reactionary, condemning and unloving as you are, then that God is not for me. So far your dooms day predictions and righteous exclusionary warnings have not come to pass.

To all my friends and family in Texas.  I am sorry the weather has caused so many to suffer. Although your politics  have left me baffled and often disgusted for the last few years, I don't think God is punishing you.  This could very well have been the answer to lots of prayers asking God to end your drought.  I don't believe in the conditional love the Pat Robertson-God seems to practice.  I don't think he is pissed and just waiting for someone to break a commandment so he can strike them down.  As far as you Texans and your crazy ideas, at best I think this Jade Helm 15 rumor, which caused some to panic, is actually giving God a good laugh.

I am praying and hoping that our drought here in California will end soon.  When it does, it will probably cause some damage along with the water it brings very much like Texas. I am pretty sure that good old Pat will find some sinners among those affected if that happens in California.  As Shakespeare said, "There is nothing good nor bad but thinking makes it so".  If you agree with the way Pat thinks, then that is your reward.  As for me I am trying to "think" in a completely different way than what Rev. Robertson is teaching.  That way I can feel love and compassion for those suffering from the weather and Floods in Texas without having to judge the reason it happened.

As always these are my views and they do not necessarily agree with the management or staff of Blogger or "The World is a Stage"

As you were,

Jay

Muzak

Lilly Tomlin said one time, "I am afraid that the guy who thought up Muzak is sitting around trying to think up something else."
Where ever there is a place for music I prefer live music to canned. My one requirement about any music in public is this:
Unless it is a concert that is intended to be listened to as a singular performance, background music should be played very quietly.
Besides wanting to be a ventriloquist I also had a desire to play piano.  I ultimately devoted more time to ventriloquism than to music but at one time I wanted to be good enough on the piano to play background music at Furr's Cafeteria in Lubbock, Texas.
Furr's Cafeteria was the only place I had ever been as a kid living in Abernathy, Texas that had live music to dine by.  Our family did not eat out much and when we did it was Cafeteria or burger joints.
The Burger places had a juke box that was too loud and the "wrong" kind of music according to my Dad.  But Furr's had a guy playing piano unobtrusively in the corner of the dining room.  There was a large snifter full of cash on the top of the piano and he played from a thick book of music that seemed to have millions of songs.  For some reason this image was appealing to me. I didn't want it as a career but I did want to have the ability to do that whenever I wanted.  I probably had that goal in mind until I was 8 years old.
I found out the thick book he played from was called a Fake Book.  It was a book of lead sheets and chords for popular songs and the name came from the idea that you could "fake" your own arrangements to the songs.  I had to get me one of those fake books.
At the time they were considered illegal because the "publisher" paid no royalties on the songs.  You could not find one in a regular music store. Through some of my Dad's musician friends I finally got my wish and for Christmas one year received the Fake book.
This was the early 60's and the music in my Fake Book was mainly songs from the 30's and 40's.  There were only a few songs that I recognized and even those were not the kind of songs that would impress my peer group.  I leaned the basics of this technique but grew bored with the old music.  My interest in the piano wained a little.  It came down to a repertory of only a few songs I played over and over to the annoyance of anyone living with me.
Eventually my folks sent the family piano to me here in California so my kids could learn.  My oldest son plays piano well but prefers guitar, base and harmonica.  For years my piano became just a shelf for family pictures and very old music books.
More that a year and a half ago I decided to pick up where I left off on the piano.  Maturity, time and availability of more current "legal" fake books has expedited my playing and increased my repertory. I usually play for an hour or so before dinner. Sandi is encouraging and even suggests I play piano when I find myself in a depression.  It always seems to help.
Recently I was at the house of a really good friend.  They have a nice baby grand piano and I love to play it when I am there.  The lady of the house even put a tip jar on top of the piano for me.  The arrangement is:  every time I play it... I have to put in a dollar.
Recently the Man of the house said, "You know I think you are  getting good enough to play at the Airport Holiday Inn Happy hour." Wow... already a step up from Furr's Cafeteria in Lubbock, Texas.

An owner wants to put music into his club.  His friend plays piano and asks if he will fill in until a regular piano player is found.  The friend says to the owner, "Well I only know two songs."  The owner says, "Well maybe you can play those songs several times... what are the two songs you can play?"
The friend says, "I can play 'Jesus Loves Me' and 'Lush Life'."

That is my favorite musician joke... Not everyone gets it... but it always makes me laugh.
As you were,
Jay
    

The Gimme Award goes to....

The Balforth Fennington Dalia Award

Hollywood, Calif (UPI)
by Walter Helmhurst  
Today the film version of "Jay Johnson: The Two and Only" was awarded the Balforth Fennington Dalia Award  better known as the "Gimme". The Balforth Fennington Dalia Foundation is dedicated to honoring all art which never really finds its audience nor becomes a commercial hit.
This award is given on an irregular basis for shows, plays and or movies for no reason other than to remind people that the movie, show or play still exists and is still available for sale or viewing.
The BFD Award is usually awarded to good shows that have trouble selling tickets. According to Velma Coopertonson, chairperson of the Balforth Fennington Dalia Foundation awards committee, "Never have we seen a show so qualified for this trophy as the Two and Only.." 
The Executive Producer of "Jay Johnson: The Two and Only" had this to say upon receiving the BFD.
"I am surprised by this award.  I was hoping for a royalty check. I do however need a paper weight for some unpaid production bills on my desk. This "Gimme" will work fine. " 
Actor and star of the film  Bob Campbell had this to say upon learning of the award, "What do you think we can get for it on E-Bay?"  Other actors from the production did not return our phone calls.
The committee for the BFD foundation will immediately start looking for next years honoree. According to Ms Coopertonson "Because shows like this are so hard for the audience to find, you can imagine how difficult is it for us." 

Different?

Three Kids...One of Each.
A Brother, A Sister and
A Middle Child

Last week my Mom moved to an assisted living facility.  I am the only child in the family who doesn't live in the area so I flew home to help. My sister and my niece were the operational commanders with my brother, my sister-in law, my nephew and me playing the part of the troupes. We all had assignments to do. The plan was to magically transfer Mom from her old place to her new place with a brief stay in the country at my niece's house while that move happened.
My niece and nephew took on the task of duplicating the new environment as close as possible to Mom's old place.  Both of them work as production coordinators for films so they treated the assignment like they were recreating a movie set.  In 14 hours they took a blank apartment and completely recreated Mom's world in detail.  It was amazing.

Above is a picture of old photographs of me, my brother and my sister, taken on the same day by the same photographer, mid-century. They are equal in size, background, matting, tone and frame. The pictures are a matched set.  They were displayed in this arrangement above my parents bed as long as any of us can remember.  My parents bedroom would not be complete without this birth order grouping of us kids in exactly this configuration.

My nephew used exact measurements from ceiling to floor, spacing above the head board of the bed and between each picture based upon the way it has always been.  Using a laser level and skilled precision he placed the individual wall hangers in the exact places they needed to be.  Then he carefully removed the pictures from the moving box and hung them up.

As you can see I am the middle child in our family.  There are many studies done on the significance of the birth order of siblings and how it shapes their personalities.  The archetype of the middle child would certainly be applicable to the way my life has turned out.  It would be pure ego to repeat those qualities of creativity, imagination, wisdom and joy that seem to define a middle child, so I won't. What I will say is, I have been dubbed "the golden boy" by my siblings and in spite of my career with puppets, I have definitely always been the "odd" one of the trio.  Ask around, my family is not shy about giving explicit factual examples of my oddites. I'm okay with being different. I wear my oddity like a new pair of clown shoes.

When my nephew stepped back to look at the picture arrangement hanging on the new wall, something was amiss. My picture frame (did I mention I am the one in the middle?) hung significantly higher than the other two picture frames. My nephew removed the pictures and checked the wall hangers with a level.  The three hangers were level as were the tops of the frames for of the other two pictures.  All his measurements were correct but it was still not right. It was my picture that disrupted the whole balance of the family arrangement,  my picture was elevated.

I have always looked for signs; communications from a higher vibration taking shape in physical form. I feel like these talisman-tic showings are trail markers to guide me in the right way.  They come most often as confirmation of decision when you are wondering if you made the correct turn. Their appearance is rarely note worthy, it could be things as simple as a feather on the grass, a Blue Jay flying past or a coin laying heads up on the ground.  Taking my Mother to an assisted living facility was the right move and in Mom's most lucid moments she would agree, but we were all looking for some sort of confirmation that we were indeed doing the right thing. The family was on uncharted ground.

As the set decoration team worked long into the evening recreating their Grandmother's home the reason for this activity was never far from every one's thoughts.  Placing a parent in the care of others is the painful passage of realizing you are no longer a child.  There are times the sadness of the situation causes what my niece calls "church laughter". The kind of giggles you get during a situation where laughing out loud would be offensive or at least not proper.  On the verge of tears, laughter becomes a desiderate antidote to the sadness of the moment.

My nephew discovered the hanging problem on the back of the picture frames.  Although the three pictures were framed exactly the same,  and appeared to be the same in every way, the eyelet screws attaching the wire of my picture frame was not screwed in at the same place as my brother's nor my sister's frames.  My screws were fastened to a different measurement.
With this discovery my nephew turns to his wife, my niece, and says, "Here is the trouble.  Jay is just wired differently from the others."
To which she replied, "I guess we better take him down a couple of notches."

They laughed about the discovery, as did I in the re-telling to the rest of the family. It was nice to laugh again for a moment. 
I suppose there will never be another metaphor more descriptive than this one explaining my place in the family gene pool.   It reminds me to say thanks to my brother and sister for understanding I am wired differently, and to thank my Mom for understanding I just don't hang like everyone else. It has always been so because my screws are in a different place.

As you were,
Jay

Approaching the Blank Page

Down to a minute

I took a lot of pictures and a lot of movies on board the Stennis.  This is an edited minute in the 18 hour days of Flight operations training.  After the last take off notice the crowd of sailors in different colored shirts run across the deck to get ready for the next take off.  It is a ballet of efficiency.

As you were,
Jay

CNV 74 --The Show

Jay "Heater" Johnson
Honorary Stennis Aviator

Hangar before the stage was set

Doing a show on an active aircraft carrier
during flight training exercises is like trying to do a half time show at the Super Bowl with the stadium moving through water at 12-15 knots per hour and planes taking off and landing on the roof.  The producers had to bring in the sound equipment and the flight operations had to be suspended for the day.  To clear space for the stage and an audience on the hangar deck, the crew had move 20 or 30 planes around and stow some of them on the flight deck above.  It took them all night and most of the next morning to create our make shift theatre. Below is a short YouTube I took when they were moving airplanes out of the audience space and "clearing the stage".

Setting up the stage on Hangar deck..

The official title of the guy who set up the show and made sure all the equipment was there and accounted for was "Fun Boss". Fun Boss is mainly shore side, but flies on with the entertainers to facilitate the production with the Navy. The Fun Boss had the power to get all the help we wanted to do whatever needed to be done for the show. He said this was his 154 arrested landing on an Aircraft carrier. However, he said they are never "old hat" and he never takes them for granted. Fun Boss has a great job. The party maker. When the crew sees the Fun Boss on board they know there is a party or show in their future.

At first the plan was to keep the bay door open for the show. Although it made a beautiful back drop, it was not good for the sound and lights. Fun Boss said he would get the doors closed and so he did.

Rehearsal after they closed the hangar door

After getting such a warm welcome from the crew, we were ready to do the show for them to give back something. Every performer in the show was a consummate road-seasoned professional,  so the sound check/rehearsal was smooth and fun.  Sound checks, when done right, let the entertainers entertain themselves.  A super private exclusive performance for us who will be working the show and not able to see it from the audience.
The musical director said the Admiral wanted a specific song in the show and had placed it last.  My friend Dick Hardwick, MC and fellow comic, thought that it was not strong enough to close the show so we persuaded him to put it in the middle and end with the Ray Charles version of America sung by Billy Valentine. (There is a YouTube video of the last few minutes of that song attached below.) When the crew came up to the stage to shake hands it brought me to tears backstage. It was a powerful moment.

There I am back stage. During the show. 

My point of view on the show.

Mostly I watched the show from behind the stage... Back stage literally and figuratively. From that vantage point, I saw a different show. I saw the faces of the sailors watching what was happening on stage.  At first they were reserved in ship shape military stoicism.  Each moment made that facade melt away a little more. Dick was the glue that kept it all together and monitored the humor quotient. By the time Darwin the Jazz Monkey hit the stage the crew was ready for some monkey business.  I didn't know how it would go with the ultimate sound-man's challenge and ventriloquist nightmare in this open hangar, but it could not have been more joyous.  It was not perfect theatrical conditions, but that audience. I wanted to bottle that reaction from those sailors and fliers and take it home. My time on stage flew by.

Darwin and Me on Stage

We all came on stage at the end to sing America. Dick grabbed the Captain and I grabbed the Admiral. We got them on stage and celebrated with the entire crew. They waved lighted flashlights in the audience.  It was amazing.
We spent the better part of the next hour just meeting or shaking hands with any and all crew members who stayed around to watch the stage strike.  With plenty of sailors ready to help,  the stage, lights, and sound gear quickly vanished into anvil cases then a cargo net ready to be loaded on the equipment plane.  As if it was all a dream the Hangar bay went back to its intended purpose and soon there were planes occupying the space which had doubled briefly as our theatre. Except for the smiles on the faces of young sailors it was like it never happened at all.

Practical Monkey Joke....

We hung out in Wardroom number 3, recounting the experience to each other and our officer guides. We answered their questions and got to know them as we decompressed from the show.
The next day was again an early call and it was back to being herded around to even more things that make the ship operate.  We got a fire drill demonstration, the Focsle where the massive anchor is stowed, the machine shop for repairing the F-18 engines and anything else that the officers could think of to keep us occupied.  And soon it was late afternoon and time to leave the ship.

This meant another briefing on the procedure of the catapult take off. Some of the suggestions were: 1) Make certain your four point harness is tight. When you go from 0 to 200 in two seconds any slack in the harness will impact your shoulders like a straight arm jab from a heavy weight fighter. 2) Make certain your hands are tucked under your arms.  During the catapult there is no way to keep your hands from flying out and hitting the seat in front of you. 3) Make sure your feet are secured and tucked behind the seat. If your legs fly forward they will hit the seat in front and your shins will never be the same again.  4) Have nothing in your hands or loose around your seat.  Any loose object will become a speeding bullet traveling at 200 miles an hour.  5) Lastly make sure your goggles are strapped on tight. There were tales of goggles separating from your face during the catapult only to come snapping back sharply when you reach air speed.
Once we were strapped in and ready to assume the take off position the anxiety begins.  There is no count down.  When the plane is secure on the catapult and all the vitals have been checked, and the pilot is ready and the safety crew has given permission you literally blast off. The only thing is... you never really know when. Like someone slowly pressing on a balloon, the anticipation of the pop is sometimes more stressful than the pop itself.  That was not the case in this operation, the shot off the bow of the ship lived up to the hype.
We hear the engines strain at full speed. We get in the positions we were instructed to assume. The engines rev up a little more. Seconds seem like an eternity until there is a metallic snap. Before you can comprehend what that sound was you feel a rush upward as you are falling face forward toward the unseen deck suspended only by shoulder straps. For a moment you doubt that the straps are strong enough to hold your massive weight.  It is like being a harnessed puppet pulled from a string in the middle of your back, straight up at 200 miles an hour.
The plane levels off and we are flying.  A dampened cheer of glee comes from the passengers. I give a thumbs up to my seat mate Dick and we grin at each other like four year olds.  The best roller coaster/carnival ride the US Navy can afford.

From that moment on it was like any other plane ride back to San Diego.
But... here is my take away from the show. The moment I get back home to check my email there is already a note from Barbara Guyll thanking me for entertaining the sailors.
My question was "how did you know?"
Well,

The audience from my camera. You can see Phil taking the movie.

It seems her son is currently on the Stennis and emailed her about the show. He told her I was taking pictures with my camera from on stage at the end. (You can even see me snapping the picture in the YouTube above) She thought I might have taken a picture of her son.  I sent her this picture of the audience at the end of the show.  When she told me the area he was standing I zoomed in as much as it would stretch.
Her son is the man on the left (picture left stage right) in the white observers uniform.

Extreme close up 

Small world made smaller by instant communication.
Thank you to the men and women of the USS John C. Stennis  CNV 74 for an unbelievable experience.
As you were,
Jay