"Don't Go Smelling Like a Rabbit"

Chapter Thirty One

I didn't have any money to go for medical treatment...assuming I trusted psychiatric medicine -which I didn’t/don't- so I just vegetated on my own during the months after I was fired from KOKE radio.

Radio was changing and I hadn’t even hit my stride yet. I had a style and an ability that didn't fit in with the emerging trend of consultant-programmed radio: tightly formatted music rotations coupled with a lot less talk from the announcer.

I was a "personality" jock; not unlike “Johnny Fever”, the character played by Howard Hesseman on the TV sitcom, WKRP In Cincinnati...a dying breed in Brave New Radio's future.

Today there are still a few highly paid personality jocks working the morning-drive shifts but they're usually part of a team of performers. There are very few individualists anymore in music radio.

I wasn't ready to accept the demise of the iconoclastic performer so I just shut down mentally. I went on automatic pilot. I was doing theatre at the Melodrama Theatre and that coupled with the physical exercise of window washing is what kept me going: exercising mind and body.

It was in the theatre I seemed to really shine.

The New Manor Apartments were an oasis where I could lie in the sun and rest and let the warmth of the rays bathe my naked body with Vitamin D and their anti-depressant light.

The atmosphere of the place was conducive to relaxation. People were friendly and non-threatening. There was a magic in the camaraderie there that put one at instant ease.

Nothing was "expected" of anyone. You could be as social or as reserved as you wanted and you weren't chastised for it.

As for myself I found it comforting to be around the people there. We were behind walls that shielded us from prying eyes and this security gave us a positive sense of separation, albeit temporary, from the troubles of the outside world.

While inside this oasis we were all that existed. The rest of the world had to hurtle along at whatever pace it chose, but we were allowed to step off the "express" simply by coming home and casting off our clothes and, thus, the cares of the day.

I suffered great frustration as a result of the firing combined with the trauma of a failed marriage and loss of the companionship of my two beloved daughters, Lisa and Stephanie; and, for the next 3 months, I didn't want to do much of anything.

But act.

Acting saved me.

Through acting I found a voice for all my creative needs. I could touch people with my insight into my characterizations. I could help them see themselves by portraying people with whom they could identify and learn from as I was learning from them.

I was free to interpret as I saw the role coupled with the accepting guidance of the director. Time and again I found encouragement where, in radio, I had found intractability and rejection.

I had found my niche, my vocation, my dream. I would, indeed, become a great and famous actor after all.

And, as time passed, the depression was relieved and I began to pursue my goal with renewed vigor, relentlessly.

I would work as much as I could and I didn't think of stopping till my mind said it was time for a sabbatical, which I took.

But the stage awaits and no actor is immune to her Sirens’ call.

Lesson: If you have to be in show business you will be.

Since three I've known that's where I was supposed to be and my entire life was a constant returning to it.

Now, I realized my life's work lay ahead of me and I set off on its path with a vengeance.

I knew now that I was a strong character actor. I could play leading roles but I'd never be the romantic leading man.

And I was happy with that.

Lesson: Believe...in yourself.