Before he died, our Dad was an actor. He acted with the Quincy Little Theatre, just like Ted does sometimes and Tony and I have.
        Ted's acted in a lot of plays: Antigone, Hamlet, . . . Red Ryder, The Death and Life of Sneaky Fitch and lots and lots more. He's even won awards for acting!
        What is generally unknown or forgotten is that Tony and I, skulking around in the Boogie Swamp, started Ted down the path to ☆ stardom ☆ and association with theatre greats*.
        A long time ago, even before Ted was in Golden Fleecing and we played in Androcles and the Lion together, Tony and I were eating lunch in the Swamp. We'd finished our peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and small bottles of milk and were gathering our stuff for a hard afternoon of fishing.
        Suddenly, from the direction of the railroad tracks, we heard a lady crying "Save me! Oh, save me! Is there no hero to answer my cry for help?"
        Then a man with a nasty, oily voice said, "Quiet, my beauty! Your hero (he said this with a sneer) is in prison, where my false evidence put him!"
        "Then alas! all is lost! But I will never succumb to your foul desires and marry you!"
                *Like Leonard Slye and Robert T. Hope and Junius Booth and Sarah Bernhardt and the Duke of Bilgewater.        Tony and I were sneaking closer during this exchange, and when we peeked through the bushes we saw a man in a cape and top hat trying a beautiful lady to the railroad tracks!
        "She'll be killed if a train runs over her," observed Tony.
        We grabbed big, thick tree branches for clubs and yelling "We'll save you" ran out to club the bad guy and untie the lady.
        We got only halfway there when a bunch of people grabbed us, took away the clubs and held us tight!
        The man in the hat came over to us looking annoyed. He turned to another person who we couldn't see because the person was behind us and said, "HOW can we rehearse in conditions like THIS?"
        "Jeffrey, Jeffrey," a lady behind us replied, "They're only children! And besides, you wanted to feel the part by tying Rosalee to an active, real, railroad track! Now everyone, take it from 'Save me! Oh, save me!' and you kids come here, sit down, and shut up."
        Tony and I came, sat, and shut up next to the lady who had been talking.
        I whispered to Tony, "I see. It's only a play and they're practicing. Boy, were we fooled, huh?"
        And Tony whispered back, "You were fooled, not me! I just went along with you to see what you'd do!"
        "Shhhhhhhhh!" said the lady.
        And we watched the beautiful lady get tied to the tracks and the villain (that's what they call the bad guy in the theatre) watch and wait for a train to run over the lady (who is called a heroine) or for her to agree to marry him.
        We saw the good guy (or hero), who had been freed from jail, rescue the heroine and clobber the villain, who was taken away by actors pretending to be police.
        It was good, and even though we hadn't seen the whole play we clapped and clapped.
        But the lady with whom we were sitting (who we learned was called the Director) didn't seem to think it was any good at all, and made the actors do it over and over and over.
        At one point we mentioned to her that a train was, really, about due and the heroine might get hurt for real. She told us that they'd made arrangements with the railroad and no trains would be using the tracks that afternoon.
        Finally she said, "Okay, everybody. I've still got problems with this scene, but tomorrow's final tech rehearsal, Wednesday's first dress and blocking, Thursday's final dress and we open Friday."
        Suddenly a man ran up and handed her a note. She read it and said, "Darn! Miranda's sick -- she's in the hospital. We don't have anyone to play her. It's only one line and some blocking (which is what theatre people call moving around on stage, you know) but it's a crucial role. Anyone know who we can get?"
        All of the actors and actresses thought and thought but no one answered.
        Then Tony said to her, "Maybe my Mom will do it, if its not a hard part. Mom can do almost anything, and besides my Dad used to act in the Little Theatre."
        The lady looked surprised and asked us our names. When she found out who we were she said our Dad had been a good actor and she'd call our Mom about the part.
        The Director told us that Miranda, the name of the lady in the play, was the heroine's mother. All Miranda had to do was come in at a certain time and say, "You'll not have her while there is breath in my ancient body!" The villain would then shoot Miranda, who would fall dead on the stage.
        Tony observed that we certainly didn't want Mom killed! But the Director told him that it wasn't a real gun, but a fake gun used on stage, so Tony and I agreed to tell Mom.
        To our surprise, Mom like the idea of being in a play and she talked to the Director and agreed to do it if we kids could come see the play on opening night for free.
        The Director agreed, and even gave us seats in the "boxes" above and close to the stage.
        For the next few days we were excited! We talked about plays and played plays. We probably tied Martha to pretend railroad tracks twenty times a day.
        One day we forgot to untie her in time for supper and when we finally did she just lay there. When we asked her what was wrong she said she'd been run over by a pretend train and we were some pretend heroes! Ted started to shovel dirt on her and she jumped up and yelled and ran to Mom. Mom got mad at Ted, but Ted explained that if she had been run over by a train she was dead, so he was burying her.
        Finally, Friday came.
        We talked theatre all day, and late in the afternoon we got dressed for the play. We boys wore white shirts and ties and Martha put on her best dress.
        Mom had gone to the theatre early because she had to get into her costume. We four walked to the theatre and were shown to our box by an usher (who is the person who shows you where your seats are).
        We were early, so we watched as the seats filled with the audience. Tony wanted some popcorn, but there wasn't any for sale. But we each got a lemonade and drank that.
        The theatre was beautiful. It was the old Orpheum, and there were golden lights and if you looked at the highest ceiling it looked like stars and moving clouds. The seats were red velvet and the part you sat on folded up. Our box was only about a meter above the stage, so we'd be able to see and hear very well.
        The play was called Caviar For The General, or, The Revenger's Tragedy. We thought that it was a funny name for a play.
        The people in the audience were all grown up, and when they saw us in our box they pointed. So we sat up real straight and behaved ourselves. After all, we did have very good seats.
        Finally, the lights dimmed, the music started, and the play began!
        It was a really great play, about a poor family and a railroad owner (the villain) who wanted the family's farm for his railroad. When he found out about the beautiful daughter he wanted to marry her, even though she was in love with Jack, the poor but honest hero.
        Finally the villain had Jack sent to prison by making up some things he said that Jack had done.
        Ted was watching with great interest. Sometimes he'd whisper to us things like, "Boy! He's a bad man!" and "I'd like to punch him for that." He didn't like the villain at all.
        The Mom came out wearing a dress we'd never seen before. The villain had been trying to carry the heroine off to marry him and Mom grabbed her and said, "You'll not have her while there is breath in my ancient body." And the villain pulled out a pistol and shot her and Mom fell into a heap on the stage floor.
        The villain turned to the audience and, still holding the smoking revolver, sneered.
        Ted yelled, "You skunk! You shot my mother!" and leapt onto the stage.
        He grabbed a chair and hit the villain over the head with it.
        Now, the chairs used in fights on the stage or in the movies are specially made. They break apart very easily: this looks really good and nobody is really hurt.
        The chair Ted used wasn't one of these, and the villain fell to the stage, out cold.
Then Ted picked up the villain's gun and shot him five times!
        "That'll teach you!" said Ted.
        "Put the gun down. It's not real," Mom said to Ted.
        "Mom!" yelled Ted. "You're okay! Are you hurt? I've really fixed this snake good!"
        "You've also fixed the play," murmured Mom.
        Well! You can only imagine the audience. People were fainting and yelling and screaming and laughing and Mom was mortified!
        Finally a doctor came on stage and checked the villain. Except for a cut on his head and being knocked out he was all right. Ted surrendered the pistol and walked up to the front of the stage.
        He said very loudly to the audience that he was sorry he'd ruined the play, but he'd never seen a play before and he thought that Mom had really be shot and all.
        It was no use. The theatre had to give everyone back their money and Mom never acted again. She was afraid that the next time the villain might have a sword.
        The next summer she sent Ted to Children's Theatre to learn about acting and things, and when Ted finally got into college he earned a Bachelor's degree in theatre and he even toured around the country with a theatrical group.
        But after the theatre that night we had a light supper of mock turtle soup, mock steak, mock chicken legs, mock bisque and mock angel food. We had powdered orange juice to drink.
        We never did get to see the heroine tied to the railroad tracks on stage.