My Farthest Throwback Thursday, or a Cool Reunion via the Internet

OK, I think this is a cool story. Or more specifically, one I’m excited about…

Me (left) and Frank Martinez, May 1974

My brother and sister were going through things at mom’s house after she decided to move to assisted living. I got this big envelope filled with pictures and report cards and such. Also included was a newspaper clipping and program from Follies 74.

In 1974, I was in the 4th or 5th grade and was one of 8-10 boys who performed in a large musical revue in Galveston, Texas. The show, entitled Follies 74 celebrated the Junior League’s 25th anniversary and featured over 100 people in the cast. People from all backgrounds were in it – doctors, lawyers, singers, nurses, teachers, housewives, etc. And little boys in grade school.

Our music teacher at Island Elementary, Dixie Wallace, encouraged boys in her classes to try out as the revue had parts for us. I don’t remember which kids from my school auditioned, but I do remember Frank Martinez (pictured below), Chuck Renfroe, and Michael Sealy Hutchings were in it. The boys in the show auditioned at Trinity Episcopal Church and came from all seven public and private elementary schools.

I remember being told they’d hired “a New York director” to come down to the island and put this revue together. I also remember that being my first thought about New York and the possibilities it held. There are many little things I remember from the experience, most of which to my 55-year-old self seem so small, and yet started paving a road. Suffice it to say, though, the overall experience is one of the formative ones that had me wanting to perform.

I crafted this post a while back but periodically updated it with new information. In the Follies, I was slated to sing with Mary Toombs, a woman I loved dearly. She was so very kind to me. And her daughter, Sarah, sang “Hernando’s Hideaway” later in the show. I remember how fun I thought that number was; Sarah wore this crazy dress with these big Flaminco-esque ruffles.

I remember feeling bad for Mary in rehearsals and in performance when, as part of the loose plot of the revue, the (New York) director yelled at her from the pit, stopping “Girl from Ipanema.” “Hey, you,” he said. “Yeah, you, in the front row. Take your maracas and your sombrero and get outta here.” She walked dejectedly to the apron of the stage, which set up my entrance and song, “My Best Girl,” from Mame. This was my very first experience with a hand-held microphone which Mary and I shared. Just today, July 9, 2018, I found Mary’s daughter, Sarah, online and working at UTMB in Galveston. She told me that her mom is still alive. I told her about an upcoming concert I was doing on the Island and that her mom was part of the story in the concert. This is cool stuff.

My cousin, Sandy Coltzer, would traipse onto the stage with this exaggerated vamp, flipping this big feather boa, and preparing to sing “He Takes Me Off His Income Tax,” from the Broadway show New Faces of 1952, the book for which was written by Mel Brooks. Talk about obscure musicals. Anyway, each time, she’d be stopped by the director from the pit. “Not yet, Sandy. You’re early!” Eventually, she came on near the end of the show and was allowed to sing the entire song. Deanna Vanderpool sang “Don’t Tell Mama” from Cabaret. My godfather, Larry Patton, (remind him, Maureen) sang “Mariah” with his arm at the odd angle and in a tux. It turns out he dislocated his shoulder or something and had to wear a sling. He took the sling off long enough to go on stage, let the 5,000 patrons out there hear the most glorious tenor voice on the planet (ask around – I’m serious), and then exited, replaced the sling, and waited for the curtain call. The list goes on and on.

During rehearsals early on, the director was frustrated with another boy who was singing “Consider Yourself” and “I’d Do Anything” from Oliver with the other boys and Gayle Monsour. He stopped rehearsals, and in this voice my memory tells me was “a director’s voice,” said, “Clay, get over here and sing this.” I felt bad at replacing the original kid who was supposed to sing it, and yet also felt self-confident and (honestly) elated with the excitement of a 10-year-old who is noticed. It was one of my first memories of also being incredibly self-conscious because everyone was suddenly looking at me. (I also vividly remember this kid’s mom, within earshot of me, exclaiming her unhappiness with change and also later expressing her dislike that the program indicated ‘Clay King and boys’. Of course, all the boys were listed in the program – just not in the actual number. So, yes, excitement was felt, but also my first extreme self-consciousness.

We probably all have a little bit of our 10-year-old selves still in us. Odd that at the age of 55, that little kid’s insecurities can still sometimes creep up. Nowadays, we call that “getting in your head.” Back then, it was just fear! These days, I’m generally less self-conscious and less self-confident, if only a little bit. But no matter what people may think, I still get ‘in my head’.

I have to stop and explain that the Moody Civic Center, Galveston’s venue for all things large, took up a 2-block space and had lower convention/show space and a huge auditorium. This space was tiered and had an extended back section which could be closed off with air walls. Based on discussions with a few other Galvestonians, I believe the auditorium to be between 450 and 500 feet deep from the apron of the stage to the back wall. This place was cavernous and served as the venue for everything from the Junior/Senior Prom to the Baptist revivals. When the entire space was filled with seating, the capacity was upwards of 5000. I recently learned that the building was purchased and used as a venue for rent, then later sold and bought again without disclosing plans for the property’s future use. Google Maps shows a big empty lot. Sad, really… Anyway, the show ran two nights and was sold out, or very close, both nights.

This “New York director” was an affable fellow. I recall Terrance McKerrs almost always smiled but was incredibly focused with amazing energy. I also remember he had that air of authority I immediately recognized as requiring I pay attention. He had those “70s good looks” of the day, and if I’m being honest, was my first man crush. He also had pipes that could knock you down flat. My most vivid memory of this entire experience was during rehearsals onsite at the Moody Center. “Wilkommen” from Cabaret was on the list of numbers, but Terrance didn’t have anyone to sing it – at least to his satisfaction, I suppose. I don’t know why. Almost in frustration, he asked me to go to the back of the auditorium – the extended back – and listen to see if “I sound alright.” I went running up the tiers to the back-back as he let out a “Wilkommen” the likes of which don’t happen these days. He sang with no mic, from center stage. It was like he was standing 10 feet away from me. I was in awe. I’ve seen two people do this; the other is Patti Lupone in a live performance at a much, much smaller venue in Austin, TX. Yes, he was my first crush. And yes, I was in awe.

The revue was greatly supported and enjoyed by the audiences. I believe it was determined later, though, that the amount of effort and money required to produce such a large production prevented it from becoming an annual event. So we all had some fun, and some of us had lasting memories. There was the crush, of course. And a spark for singing.

On and off since that time, I’ve wondered what happened to Terrence – where is he, what’s he doing, yada yada yada. Of course, the internet has made that a bit easier, but still work. Honestly, I hadn’t thought of him in a long while. And then I received that package of old photos. And there in the stack was the program from 1974.

Now, you all reading this know I’m a hopeless romantic, a hopeless nostalgic – likely many other “ics,” so it can’t be a surprise I started a new search. Facebook. Google. Yahoo. Links and cross-links. Dead ends and possibilities. One site led to another, and a Facebook post had pictures, but it’s been 44 years! Is he even still alive? Is that a picture of him? We’ve probably all had our version of this experience. But through diligence and luck, I found a guy, through a theatre’s website in Topeka, Kansas, that could be him. His photo looks like it could be him (recall I’m remembering this through a 10-year-old’s lens, four decades later). A couple of Facebook posts/messages went into the ether, but neither garnered a response. So 411.com (I think) offered a street address. So, in an unusually old-fashioned way, I wrote a letter. I believe I opened with, “Are you the Terrance McKerrs who directed a show in Galveston, Texas, in the 70s? If so, this letter is for you. If not, you can stop reading and throw it in the trash.” I then went on to recall much of what I’ve written here. I included my email address and phone number, stuck it in the mail, and went on with life.

This week, in my email inbox, I received an email. It opens by saying, “Yes, Clayton. This is Terrance McKerrs, who did do the show in Galveston, Texas, in the 70s.” Have you ever had one of those moments when you were sort of dumb-struck at something unexpected? That was me…

Turns out he lives in Topeka, KS, and is still directing. He asked me to remind him of my connection to the show. We’ve exchanged a few emails about shows we’ve done, songs we’ve sung, etc. And oddly, today, when I searched Facebook, an actual profile came up (it didn’t before). We are now Facebook friends and hope one day to meet in person for coffee or dinner or something. One never knows… I do know that we’ll enjoy getting to know each other and swapping theatre stories.

So, yes, some will probably think this is a long-winded bunch of mess. And I might actually agree. But then the romantic lion in me roars to the surface, and I just sit back and smile that I found a new (old) friend who helped create in me a major piece of who I am.

Yes, I’m a nostalgic sap, but I think this is a neat story to share as it’s happy. We don’t have enough happy these days. I think we need more happy and less ugly. And I have a new Facebook friend I’ll hopefully get to meet in person at some point.

Terrance, until then, I’m looking forward to the posts and messages!