Lost Memories and a Whale on My Head
At this point, I have few real regrets about my former life. Regret is a worthless emotion; it accomplishes nothing and is often even counterproductive to making the most of one’s present and future. However, I do regret having lost so many tangible aspects of the Melinda of long ago; the many lost journals, photographs, theater reviews, etc. When I entered treatment in the Freedom House, I had only a small gym bag, filled with every possession I owned. Since then—and particularly since starting the writing of my memoir, I have tried hard to locate some of those old photos; unfortunately, I have found not too many exist. 
On Friday, I happened to be perusing through an old friend’s Facebook profile, scouring as I often do for friends that got away. One name stuck out from the page—and as soon as I saw it, I literally leapt from the chair in my office. The name that struck me was Robert Altman—not the Robert Altman who was a film director a few decades earlier—but Robert Altman, who is the author of the photography book, The Sixties, and who was also the photographer from my New Shakespeare Company days—the repertoire company I toured with for two years when in my late teens. I purchased some of the photos decades earlier—but like so many of the things that got lost in the reckless shuffle of my life—they simply vanished. Those photos were some of the best ever taken of me—I could not believe my luck in running across this link to my past so I immediately started typing a note to him on Facebook, fingers shaking, explaining who I was—asking him if he still had any of the old photos he’d taken of me. It was like a dream come true when he told me he still had contact sheets of the original proofs and that I was welcome to order as many as I liked.
Robert, who could tell how excited I was, was kind enough to go through his photos that day and send me all he had from the New Shakespeare days. I was so elated when the first of many emails came in with the contact sheets attached. However, my elation turned to real depression as I looked through each one, not recognizing any of the people from the photos. They were clearly from an earlier time when I was not yet in the company. Unfortunately, they were all he had left.
Even though the experience on Friday was ultimately disappointing, it did allow me to reflect more on one of the happier periods in my young adulthood. Les and I spent the evening Friday night, looking at a few old reviews my mother had saved from those days. We ended up laughing until tears ran down our faces when I told him about the company’s first performance of Hamlet—which was one of my most disastrous performances ever! Everything that could possibly go wrong did go wrong—and while it was not funny at the time, looking back at it now—it was pretty hilarious. That performance included a rapier that came dangerously close to beheading an audience member as it broke and flew from the stage as well my (I played Gertrude) death scene, where I died ten minutes earlier due to a blunder by Horatio in the play’s final scene. I lay on stage, writhing and moaning for what seemed an endless length of time—it was likely only ten minutes—but far longer than Shakespeare intended. After the performance, I thought of how we had insulted the Bard’s memory with that performance! As I sat, dejected, in the dressing room after the performance, the eighty year old director of the company, Margrit Roma (whom we all called 'Roma') shuffled over to me and put a gnarled and twisted hand on my shoulder, stating in her almost too thick to be believed Swiss-German accent, “Okay, Qveeeen, you need a whale on yourrr head.” Then she shuffled off.
I sat there, confused—whale on my head? Whale on my head? Whaaaat? What the heck was she talking about? I was fairly new to the company still and was not quite used to translating her accent. As I sat there, it finally dawned on me. V-E-I-L. I needed a veil on my head. Well, all right then.
As bad as that performance was—there were others almost too delicious to bear. As I performed the Pirate Jenny song in a dream sequence in The Threepenny Opera, I was to run off stage just as I finished the song. However, during one performance, I reached the pinnacle of what every actor dreams of—I did not perform Pirate Jenny that night—I became Pirate Jenny. As I finished the song, I could not move off the stage as the directions called—because when I opened my eyes, I saw the entire audience rise as one as I completed the song. It was the most incredible feeling of mass love I have ever experienced. I found myself immobilized to the stage until I finally returned to reality, seeing Roma violently motioning me to get off the stage.
I have a couple of the Altman photos, which a friend happened to come across about eight years ago that I am very grateful to have. I would have posted them here now with this post—to highlight the whale on my head and my amazing standing ovation; however, I am not finished unpacking all the boxes that I bundled up when I packed things up to move to our Boston home. I plan to make a concerted effort to unpack them now—as I am so hungry to see them again. When I do come across them in the next month or so, I will post the ones I have on this blog. I am grateful to have those few tangible memories—grateful to have them for my book—but most will only exist in my mind, I am afraid.
Peace,
Melinda
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Categories: Memories,Theater,Personal Stories,Writing the Memoir
Tags: Memories lost photographs Theater New Shakespeare Company
Y'know, in a way, the idea of owning only enough to fill a gym bag is quite appealing to me...like Jerry Garcia sang "everything you gather is just more that you can lose"--what I own ends up owning me right back. In some of the happiest periods (as well as one or two not so happy periods) I lived with nothing that couldn't fit into a backpack, whereas now I can't take a crap without lugging this damn computer in there with me....okay, this has absolutely nothing to do with your posts, or the likely not-so-happy reasons your possessions were so reduced.
More on topic, that performance of Hamlet sounds fascinating, and I doubt old Will would be offended--it's believed that there was a lot of improvisation, a lot of last minute changes in scripts when his plays were originally performed, packing in as much entertainment value as possible so as to compete effectively with brothels and bear-baiting. If anything, he'd be puzzled by what sober affairs performances of his work are these days....
As far as photos go, I've always been inclined to think that they're overrated...and memories far underrated...but that's just me....
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Hi Jay,
Well, you know, it was freeing to have so little when I went to the Freedom House--and it was even fitting, I thought. I really had nothing from the past--except, of course, the traumas that I carried with me. I believe the experience was good in the way that you suggest--living off very little leaves you with the feeling that material possessions are overrated.
And you know, I think you're right--Will probably would have loved the spontaneity of the disastrous performance. This is something that film loses on--because when you are on stage, you have both the magical moments and the disastrous ones--and you never know when each might occur. I just love that about the theater.
Thanks for stopping by--
Melinda
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I do know what you mean about lost memories.
And unlike my good friend Dr Jay, I do actually think photos are important. Much more easily stored and portable these days due to digitisation, they are kind of bookmarks in time.
One of my great regrets is that I don't own any photos of my time spent in Egypt (except one artfully out of focus one, where I'm in some huge temple). And that's because the boyfriend I went to Egypt with, made the end of our relationship rather messy.
There I was, believing as I always do, that everything would be okay. And I'd get copies of the pictures later on. Which never happened, as he became my stalker and a whole heap of other stuff!
So many beautiful memories that now feel just like a dream. Like they hardly happened at all. In some ways, I know that really doesn't matter.
And just today, I was looking around my place, trying to work out what I'd keep if I decided to sell everything and go overseas. The answer is - very little. A few pieces of furniture. Photos and books. Some clothes, but most I'd give away or sell.
We don't really need that much to live a happy life.
I think though, we tend to invest a sense of who we think we are in our possessions and our memories.
But, if there really is only the here and now... then memories never really leave us like we think they do.
It was thrilling reading your performance story. And where I do agree with Jay is that your performance that went wrong - would've been fantastic viewing. That's where theatre is alive, when its spontaneous, and what's "good" isn't always neat and tidy.
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I agree, Svasti--I think photos are important. I can't tell you how much I wish I hadn't been so careless with those things--I wish I'd had the presence of mind to send more to my mother (fortunately, she did save a few of my theater reviews and a very few photos). I'm sorry you lost those amazing photos of Egypt--and how terrible that your 'friend' (using that word very loosely) could not care enough about your friendship to provide you with them.
However, I agree with you that we really don't need much to be happy--and the older I get, the more I realize this to be so. It was freeing to lose so many things before I entered treatment--and it somehow made the 'fresh start' even more real.
And yes, I so agree with you on the theater as well--and this is why I love live performances so much. There's always that thrill of not knowing exactly what might happen!
Take care, Svasti--
Melinda
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i've read youre articles and found it very informative and inspiring.... hope you touch other just like me...
hope to see you around....
maraming salamat....
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Thank you so much for your kind words--and thank you for stopping by!
Melinda
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Ahh, yes. There is no feeling in the world like captivating an audience. What a rush, right?
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Abstolutely, Mike--there's no rush as amazing as being on a live stage and feeling that mass love. It was the best!
Melinda
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I look forward to seeing those photographs, and I agree with Svasti -- they are such tangible pieces of the past.
I wish I had more photographs of my grandparents, both as young people and when I knew them. There are places that I have lived that I would love to have documented. Although I have a few interior shots of the Little House, an exterior shot or two would be nice. But I also have a lot of family pictures and I'm grateful for those.
You have some great theater stories, too. There is a real element of chance to performing on stage.
Jennifer
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I am planning to go to Montana in the spring (probably next month) and I am going to scan a lot of my old family photos--although my mother really didn't take that many pictures of our family, she does have some, which I want. I guess she figured she didn't want proof of how dysfunctional we all were--lol!
It's funny because I have a camera today and I am constantly taking photos of everything. Les and I are like the dueling photographers everywhere I go--but at this point of my life, I want to document everything. Another thing we have in common, Jennifer!
Melinda
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I'm inspired by your determination. I agree, regret is a useless emotion and serves nothing more than to cause confusion.
That must have been quite the feeling, I call that a moment in time.
Your words are uplifting, you have a new reader.
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Bruno,
Thank you so much for your kind words. I appreciate your stopping by!
Yes, that was some moment and one that I will never forget!
Melinda
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Fellow New Shakespearean! I'm glad I goggled Margrit Roma and found your site. I joined the company in 1965 through 1980. Then I stayed in contact and was there for Roma's memorial and said good bye to Rick on his last day. They were my 2nd parents and shaped my life. How well I know the heavy accent, the moments of love from an audience, etc. then the Roma moments after the show. You were part of the last years and I hope to meet you one day. Wonderful to start my day reading your blog. Annie
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Annie! How amazing! You must have been in the company when I was but I don't remember you. Do you remember Judith? She used to go by the name Chloe and now is using another name that I cannot recall. I saw her at the memorial for Rick in San Francisco--and this must have been in 2001. I was able to even get some photos of some of the shows I did, which was such a blessing considering I'd lost nearly everything from my theater days.
Are you in SF still? I would love to catch up with you someday also!
Melinda
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Melinda,
Yes- I remember Judith and don't know how to get a hold of her. I had been in/out of the company throughout my youth, teen and then young adult years. I am small (4'11) black hair, Pilipina played Hermia many seasons, Maria, Juliet, Tahoe and toured. I left the company the last time in 1980 when I met and married New Shakespeare actor Alan Barnes. Roma- "You need him like a hole in the head." I was at Rick's memorial so we must be both in the group picture. I stood next to Rick in his wheelchair. My email is iconsult@pacific.net
I live in Lake County- 2.5 hrs. north of San Francisco. I googled New Shakepeare this morning as I too am writing a book. I look forward to your email.
Annie
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Annie,
I don't know how to get in touch with Judith either. When I was in the company, the primary actors were Kent, Bunker, Howard (who was my boyfriend at the time), Judith (who played Hermia at that time), and others that I cannot remember their names. I think I remember someone named Alan Barnes--but I am not positive (too long and too many drugs ago!).
I played some great roles with the company--Pirate Jenny in The Threepenny Opera, Titania in A Midsummer Night's Dream, Gertrude in Hamlet, and Rosalinde in As You Like It.
If at all possible, I'd love to catch you in SF sometime--stay in touch! My email address is melinda @ melindaville.com (spaces inserted so spambots don't catch it!).
I'd also love to hear more about what your book is about.
Melinda
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OMG Annie Panic Button!!! I happened on this site and saw your comment and just HAD to respond. Remember cooking dinner at your house by the ocean and sitting down to dinner with the shirtless men? *chuckling hysterically*...Yes, the Roma comments were killer sometimes ie., Sovereign Winery and my Puck. Remember how they ran out of money to pay us and we starved? I was 82 pounds after that stint. Looking back it was all well worth it somehow.
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Yes! I certainly do remember how they ran out of money! As a matter of fact, during one tour (the last, I think) one actor said she had saved all her paychecks and was living off the per diem. I was so alarmed! I told her--NO--go cash those check immediately--while you still can! I still don't know if she did.
Hahahahaha.
Melinda
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I guess they always seemed to "run out of money"....I am clueless as to the whale on your head comment..but like Annie, I am short and was destined to play faeries and such. I started out as Peasblossom and head of props, and moved into Puck, understudied Hermia and Maria. After my first performance as Puck the audience gave me flowers. Roma plunged her insightful words that those were not meant for me but the whole troupe and to hurry with the props. I gave her the flowers since she worked harder than any of us ; )
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How silly whale vs. veil...I remember as Peasblossom doing Midsummer during a storm...the wind was howling as the guys were holding up the sets from behind and we screamed Titania's lullaby at her. We should have been performing The Tempest!
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Good work man..this is the great website I have seen so far...outstanding..
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