Is that so

A friend emailed me that a college professor has died. It got me thinking, because I do not spend a great deal of time looking over my shoulder. What I really realized is that when I was in college, all I really wanted to do was be a chicken farmer. True.

So there I was, in college, doing all sorts of things that I do not regret, although there was a night with a dancer that I clearly could have handled a lot better. Another night with my girlfriends roommate would, today, get me jailed, but back then, it was just kind of obnoxious. Ah, the good old days. You kids today have it so much harder than those of us lucky enough to have survived Flock of Seagulls.

I was cast in an obscure Tennessee Williams play, Suddenly Last Summer. I was in way over my head, it was a major college production, directed by the top professor in the college of arts. Not a small accomplishment to even get cast, but I was, back then, full of myself. I was supposed to play a doctor, and if I could remember anything else about the play I would be happy to share it with you, but instead, I will share how one man can offer both hope and consternation, all in the rehearsal process of a play.

Dr. Richard Mason was old when I was in college and a bit of a crank. I was lose and wild and possibly a drug addict. Why he cast me confounds me to this day. From almost day one, he and I did not work well together. He had his concepts and I had contempt. He was smart, but in my mind, I was there and he was in the background.

What I remember clearly is the day I showed up to rehearsal in a t-shirt and jeans. A little background, at that point in my life, I already had a couple of years of summer theater in Los Angeles in my pocket. I had worked with professional actors and directors, I had a little understanding of the creative process and I had a clear understanding that rehearsals were a time to learn lines, blocking and develop relationships. Dr. Mason had a different understanding. The crux of our disagreement went something like this.

Dr. Mason: Mr. Bertles, do you realize you are supposed to be a doctor in this play?

Me: Yes.

Dr. Mason: Do you really think a doctor would wear a worn shirt of unknown origin and some disgusting pants to his job?

Me: I am not sure, but I am not really a doctor, am I? I am just pretending to be a doctor in this play.

Dr. Mason: Yes, Mr. Bertles, that is true, but for you to convey who this doctor is, you should do your best to emulate the life a doctor at this point in time would be leading.

Me: I don't even know my lines yet.

Dr. Mason: And that Mr. Bertles, we will get to together.

He was a fierce man. A funny man. An intelligent and loving man. Intimidating, brilliant and a kind soul. If I were a better person, I would have stayed in touch with him, because I liked him, and in the end, he liked me.

He knew, upon graduation, that I would never be a chicken farmer. He also knew I would never be an actor. He had a twinkle in his eye when he told me that I was an artist who would never be comfortable working in collaboration with others. He was right.