Touring

My wife is two days away from hitting the road. Ah, the road. Touring was once upon a time the primary venue for an actor. Companies would travel from city to city, sometimes bringing several shows with them. I have seen an authentic sign that was once commonly hung on the outside of Inns, “NO THEATRICALS ALLOWED.” Such was the esteem in which the community of actors and stagehands were held.

My wife’s tour is being produced by Theatreworks, a company that brings musicals and dramas to young people across America. It is a noble endeavor and they do it quite well and efficiently and compensate their actors reasonably. They operate under a union contract and so deserve much more respect than their non-union competition which takes advantage of the willingness of young inexperienced want-to-be actors to work long hours for little. But I digress.

My wife’s tour reminds me of the few tour experiences I have had. The first being very similar to her Theatreworks experience. The Paper Bag Players is an outfit that I became associated with a few months after moving to NYC. I was with them for a few years and we did similar regional tours. But then, through happenstance and association, I was bumped to first class, and boy, what a difference.



Here we are, in Boston at the Shubert Theatre, just before Thanksgiving, 1986. I’m in the bottom left corner. I was a child. “I’M NOT RAPPAPORT”, written by Herb Gardner, directed by Dan Sullivan, starring Judd Hirsch and Cleavon Little. Seven actors, five understudies, five crew and stage management. Thirteen cities in eight and a half months. Our shortest stay was one week, our longest, five. We flew everywhere and the set, lights, costumes and luggage were trucked. It was sweet. I learned to scuba dive in Florida, played tennis with Judd in Kansas City, Dallas and beyond, played squash with Richmond Hoxie, who remains one of my dearest friends, and generally had a good ole’ time. The road can be fun, but now that I’m a few years older, home sounds pretty good too.