In late 1973 or early 1974, I played Riff in West Side Story. Riff is the best character – not all wimpy and soppy like Tony. Biggest problem with the character is that, as the guy whose killing sparks the battles portrayed in the production, he is only in the first half of the play. The issue with all the other male characters, other than Tony, is that the parts may be sprinkled throughout, but if you took the dialogue and business of all the other Jets and combined them into a single character, there would still be less to do than Riff.
One result of that was that for certain numbers more bodies were needed, so in the song “Officer Krupke” I came back with my beard dyed black, and a black clown wig (big and curly). Do you think anyone noticed?
Most of Riff’s best scenes are played with or against that soppy little Tony.
In 1979, I had to move back to Porterville. I say had to, because that’s how it felt. In fact, the first six months I refused to commit, staying in motels and hotels, before finally deciding to rent an apartment.
When I finally did commit, I rented a small, two-room house, behind a farmhouse, in Plano, just south of town. That place has some interesting stories. Maybe, I’ll tell some, here, but the main story has to do with my return to Porterville.
When I left town, headed for college, in the summer of 1974, I didn’t care if I ever returned. I maintained contact with none of my friends – in fact, I had already burnt most of my old bridges, and had intended on walking away and never turning back. By 1975-76, my folks had moved to Visalia, so when I returned from LA, I stayed with them, and didn’t return to Porterville for essentially five years.
I was not happy returning to Porterville. Although I had lots of memories, many were NOT good – maybe the best memories were all the drugs, sex, and rock’n’roll in which we partook – enough to almost last a lifetime.
As I told someone, I still get excited going past an orange grove, as I had rendezvous so many times in the back of my Toyota Corona or my Chevy Vega. There’s something about killing the lights, quietly cruising three or four rows of trees away from the road, and killing the engine.
But, I digress.
When I went back to Porterville to work at KTIP/KIOO, I thought I could somehow sneak into town, unnoticed. Returning to Porterville was never going to be a triumph. Going back to that hellhole would always be a resignation or admitting defeat. I knew it was temporary, until I could get another gig, and I had several things working for me.
My family had moved, so there were no connections, there.
I had gotten a perm, shortly before the gig started, so my hair was pretty curly (eventually frizzy).
I went by the name of Allan Michaels, which was my on-air name.
I had maintained NO contact with anyone, so no one knew I was coming. I had hoped I’d be out of everyone’s memory, and I could slip in for a few months, and sneak right back out.
It wasn’t destined to be, however.
The first person to recognize me was a lady who had been in the class ahead of me. She was one of the cheerleaders (maybe, the head cheerleader), and one of the “popular” in-crowd. She was Porterville’s version of Stranger Things’ Nancy, She literally called out to me, by name, in the parking lot of Smith’s Supermarket, and came over and we chatted for about 10 minutes. I hadn’t known she even knew me, but I had been an actor and a musician – hell, I was even recognized by a gas station attendant, one day, several years after I left – not someone I was in school with, just a local who must have seen me perform at something.
The crazy thing about that meeting, was that shortly before she graduated, ugly (probably very untrue) rumors were spread about two of the cheerleaders (she being one of them). She was a bank president’s wife, in a small town, where those rumors had flown far and wide. While I never thought they true, nor cared one way or the other. it was interesting that while talking to her, that was the unfortunate memory that arose in my feeble little brain.
I realized then, just how different life is for those who remain in small towns and those who leave. I, as someone who left, never have to face all the stupid things I did or was accused of doing, because I've moved on. I maintain contact with about three people from high school, and so I'm free of that baggage.
I’ve always wondered if those who stay in their hometowns – even if they went away for college and returned – were conservative because they stayed or if they stayed because they were conservative – and how much both are true and feed one another. I wondered when and how the stories faded. I don’t know, or care, if they’re true, I’m just sad to say that because I hadn’t been there the prior five years, my most recent memories of her were all ugly and I didn’t want those recollections to taint my interactions with the, apparently, old (somewhat) friend.
I was in town for just over a year. I never saw her again.
The second person to recognize me was a lady who had played in the third clarinet section, in Buck’s band. I barely remembered her. She was a sophomore when I was a senior, she was, at the time, kind of invisible (as are many people, at that age). We actually went out a few times. I was stupid and being single, at the time, I wasn’t taking any relationships seriously – I had just broken up with Kathy and we had given Jena up for adoption, and I was not interested in anything beyond good company.
The third, and final (from my recollection) example of being recognized came when I was doing my usual late-night show, playing Nectar, Peri Ubu, Light My Cocaine Stairway to Freebird, etc...
The phone rang.
I answered, “K100, this is Allan.”
A male voice on the other end of the line said, “Rigga Tigga Tum Tum”
“What”
“Rigga Tigga Tum Tum”
“I’m sorry,” I asked, “Who is this?”
It turned out it was the actor who had played Tony, and he was giving me the queue to, I believe my line was supposed to be “Womb to Tomb” to which he should respond “Spoim to Woim” (Sperm to Worm). It had been five years, and a lot of miles, and I just didn’t click to the lines. Acting had been abandoned and I was now a DJ. I had reinvented myself, just as I had done when I lost my front teeth and transitioned from musician to actor, the me had become a different me, so that old me didn’t matter.
One result of that was that for certain numbers more bodies were needed, so in the song “Officer Krupke” I came back with my beard dyed black, and a black clown wig (big and curly). Do you think anyone noticed?
Most of Riff’s best scenes are played with or against that soppy little Tony.
In 1979, I had to move back to Porterville. I say had to, because that’s how it felt. In fact, the first six months I refused to commit, staying in motels and hotels, before finally deciding to rent an apartment.
When I finally did commit, I rented a small, two-room house, behind a farmhouse, in Plano, just south of town. That place has some interesting stories. Maybe, I’ll tell some, here, but the main story has to do with my return to Porterville.
When I left town, headed for college, in the summer of 1974, I didn’t care if I ever returned. I maintained contact with none of my friends – in fact, I had already burnt most of my old bridges, and had intended on walking away and never turning back. By 1975-76, my folks had moved to Visalia, so when I returned from LA, I stayed with them, and didn’t return to Porterville for essentially five years.
I was not happy returning to Porterville. Although I had lots of memories, many were NOT good – maybe the best memories were all the drugs, sex, and rock’n’roll in which we partook – enough to almost last a lifetime.
As I told someone, I still get excited going past an orange grove, as I had rendezvous so many times in the back of my Toyota Corona or my Chevy Vega. There’s something about killing the lights, quietly cruising three or four rows of trees away from the road, and killing the engine.
But, I digress.
When I went back to Porterville to work at KTIP/KIOO, I thought I could somehow sneak into town, unnoticed. Returning to Porterville was never going to be a triumph. Going back to that hellhole would always be a resignation or admitting defeat. I knew it was temporary, until I could get another gig, and I had several things working for me.
My family had moved, so there were no connections, there.
I had gotten a perm, shortly before the gig started, so my hair was pretty curly (eventually frizzy).
I went by the name of Allan Michaels, which was my on-air name.
I had maintained NO contact with anyone, so no one knew I was coming. I had hoped I’d be out of everyone’s memory, and I could slip in for a few months, and sneak right back out.
It wasn’t destined to be, however.
The first person to recognize me was a lady who had been in the class ahead of me. She was one of the cheerleaders (maybe, the head cheerleader), and one of the “popular” in-crowd. She was Porterville’s version of Stranger Things’ Nancy, She literally called out to me, by name, in the parking lot of Smith’s Supermarket, and came over and we chatted for about 10 minutes. I hadn’t known she even knew me, but I had been an actor and a musician – hell, I was even recognized by a gas station attendant, one day, several years after I left – not someone I was in school with, just a local who must have seen me perform at something.
The crazy thing about that meeting, was that shortly before she graduated, ugly (probably very untrue) rumors were spread about two of the cheerleaders (she being one of them). She was a bank president’s wife, in a small town, where those rumors had flown far and wide. While I never thought they true, nor cared one way or the other. it was interesting that while talking to her, that was the unfortunate memory that arose in my feeble little brain.
I realized then, just how different life is for those who remain in small towns and those who leave. I, as someone who left, never have to face all the stupid things I did or was accused of doing, because I've moved on. I maintain contact with about three people from high school, and so I'm free of that baggage.
I’ve always wondered if those who stay in their hometowns – even if they went away for college and returned – were conservative because they stayed or if they stayed because they were conservative – and how much both are true and feed one another. I wondered when and how the stories faded. I don’t know, or care, if they’re true, I’m just sad to say that because I hadn’t been there the prior five years, my most recent memories of her were all ugly and I didn’t want those recollections to taint my interactions with the, apparently, old (somewhat) friend.
I was in town for just over a year. I never saw her again.
The second person to recognize me was a lady who had played in the third clarinet section, in Buck’s band. I barely remembered her. She was a sophomore when I was a senior, she was, at the time, kind of invisible (as are many people, at that age). We actually went out a few times. I was stupid and being single, at the time, I wasn’t taking any relationships seriously – I had just broken up with Kathy and we had given Jena up for adoption, and I was not interested in anything beyond good company.
The third, and final (from my recollection) example of being recognized came when I was doing my usual late-night show, playing Nectar, Peri Ubu, Light My Cocaine Stairway to Freebird, etc...
The phone rang.
I answered, “K100, this is Allan.”
A male voice on the other end of the line said, “Rigga Tigga Tum Tum”
“What”
“Rigga Tigga Tum Tum”
“I’m sorry,” I asked, “Who is this?”
It turned out it was the actor who had played Tony, and he was giving me the queue to, I believe my line was supposed to be “Womb to Tomb” to which he should respond “Spoim to Woim” (Sperm to Worm). It had been five years, and a lot of miles, and I just didn’t click to the lines. Acting had been abandoned and I was now a DJ. I had reinvented myself, just as I had done when I lost my front teeth and transitioned from musician to actor, the me had become a different me, so that old me didn’t matter.
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