Clothes to Remember, Part 2 by Lobber True Story Contest contest entry |
It's 1969 and a few weeks after moving to Toronto, I realize that my Detroit jeans and imported leather jackets aren't really in fashion. I'm 20 and I find that almost all the young men my age, and living in the downtown core, are fashionably over-dressed. Yes, they 'appear' to be wealthy. In fact, many look like they work for Dun and Bradstreet.
But, I soon learn that these men merely dress for show. . . and I don't mean theatre. Many, I find, don't even have a job. If they do work, they sell shoes or clothes, so they can get discounts on their attire, such as Italian shoes and silk ties. Also, many are saving money by living in their parent's basement. I'm lucky. I work in theatre and don't have to maintain a corporate look. But things will soon change : : : It's late in 1969 and I've been hired on retainer by Ryerson University to teach two courses in the fall of 1970: theater history (1800-present), and a new, unique and challenging course that I will design with the title Music in the Theatre for Techies. Technical students will learn how to read music, and design sound effects while being exposed to numerous musical formats ranging from the original Spike Jones, to circus and opera. After the first week of teaching, I realize I lack visual credibility! I'm twenty-one with an M.A. in theatre history. But, I look too young to be teaching at a university. My jeans and leather jackets are the wrong attire. As we say in theater, I really don't "look the part". I panic and quickly book a flight to New York City. Once there, I immediately go to 42nd & Broadway where I buy three of the flashiest outfits I can find. One is a bottle-green, skin-tight, corduroy, walking suit that has more diagonal brass zippers than you can count. In fact, using the zippers is the only way to put the outfit on or take it off. The second is another walking suit. It's a camel-colored, two-piece, brushed-denim, outfit with a dark fake-fur collar. The third is a tight-fitting, grey-denim, Carnaby-style, two-piece walking suit. The material is tie-died and the suit is covered in hundreds of small circular and star-shaped, silver studs...a sort of a "pre-Rocket Man" After my shopping spree, I feel confident that, based on my appearance, no one can doubt my theatrical abilities to teach music and theater at any university in Canada. Also, I again prove, at least to myself, the power of clothes. ::::: As an actor, I never have had much luck with costume shoes. Having a left foot, a half-size larger than my right, compounds the problem. In West Side Story (Detroit, 1967), I was allowed to wear my own Wellingtons. However, as Sancho Panza in Man of La Mancha, (a role that I will end up playing in two different productions in Toronto), it's clear that my half Wellingtons just won't work. One thing I truly hate is walking barefoot. This applies to shopping at the mall, strolling at the beach, and showering with friends. However, I might make an exception for love-ins, rock concerts, and the show Barefoot in the Park. Think of the horror I felt when I learn that Sancho, in the upcoming production #1, is expected to be barefoot. Terror hits me. But, more pointedly, I offer the following, true-life occurrence. In the opening scene of this musical, the terrified characters Alonso, the Don, and Sancho step off some creaky stairs and onto the floor of a prison dungeon. In rehearsal, things went well. However, on opening night, things are different The prison floor now appears darker to me. I realize that the canvas floor on the set has been re-painted and is still wet. As a theater 'techie' I know that some of the electricals are running underneath the canvas. I'm now "truly terrified" that I might be electrocuted. I also realize that I'm about to get dark green feet. The Don is lucky. He's wearing shabby, but at least protective, boots. As an actor, I both envy and curse my lucky "Knight of the Woeful Countenance" - as the show plays on, to the delight of the unaware audience. Sadly, by the end of the season, our Knight is the first of my two Dons to die of AIDS. Poetic justice? I wonder. Anyway, as for me. . . I still wonder if my chronic leg wounds are related to mercury in green paint.
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