Acting, by Will Stanton

The word “acting” first brings
to mind theater acting or perhaps movie acting. 
I, however, briefly considered delving into a deeper subject.  I always have been fascinated with human
minds, and I have been aware that people often put on acts in front of others
throughout their daily lives.  William Shakespeare wrote, “All the world’s a stage, and all
the men and women merely players.”
The degree of acting varies
greatly from person to person depending upon his perceived situational needs
and depending upon his own nature.  I,
for example, don’t care to engage in artifice; I’d rather be just who I
am.  Acting takes too much effort, and
perhaps I’m just too simple-minded to be clever at it.  Others, however, are like chameleons, saying
and doing anything and everything they deem necessary to attract and influence
other people.  An extreme example of that
is the last three (especially Republican) presidential primaries.  Many people enthusiastically succumb to such
manipulation, but I am repulsed by it. 
So, rather than my being
repulsed and spending time talking about the vagaries of human nature, I’ll
return to the more enjoyable subject of theater acting.  Here are a few snippets of theater
occurrences from my early days.
My first experience being in a
play was at age seven.  My elementary
school was run by the local university, which provided student teachers with an
opportunity to practice by assisting the regular teachers.  One young lady wrote “The Marshmallow
Mushroom.”  I was an elf name
“Muffin.”  I was a very competent
elf.  I enjoyed the experience and still
have the script secreted somewhere with all my keepsakes.
Two years later, the
university was celebrating the sesquicentennial of its founding, and they had
commissioned Alan Smart to write an historical play called “The Green
Adventure.”  I played a pioneer lad.  Ever since that time, I never have looked at
the script, but I have that one, too.
Of course, I participated in
the infamous genre of high-school plays. 
The usual botches and glitches occurred in all of them: forgotten lines,
mixed-up scenes, stiff acting.  I was
sufficiently unimpressed with our productions to remember them today.
I’ll never forget, however,
what happened to my oldest brother.  That
class put on the famous “Annie Get Your Gun.” 
My brother was cast as Buffalo Bill. 
The problem was the audience never did figure out who he was.  That is because the lead actor totally forgot
his first-act lines and kept repeating the lines from the end of the second act
to the point where the rest of actors just went ahead and skipped half the
play.  So by the time my brother wandered
onto the stage wearing a cowboy hat and a quizzical grin, no one knew who he
was.  That role did not lead my brother
to a career in Hollywood.
At the same time, the girl
destined to become my brother’s wife was participating in a high-school play in
Katonah, New York. They were performing “Arsenic and Old Lace.” As you recall, the
loony brother who thought he was Teddy Roosevelt always assumed the responsibility
of taking the supposed “victims of yellow fever” to the basement to be
buried.  The stage was built three feet
above the main floor of the auditorium, and a trap door provided access to the
space beneath.  The play director
decided, having no stairway to a basement that the trap door would suffice as
the apparent entrance to the basement. 
Of course, when “Teddy” dumped his victims down into the basement, they
had learned to bend their knees to simulate descending into a deep
basement.  During the first act, the trap
door was covered with a carpet.  The
problem was that, during the first act, the carpet was there, but someone had
forgotten to replace the trap-door cover. 
So in the midst of the first act, an unsuspecting student-actor walked
across the carpet and immediately slowly sank three feet down into the floor
where he remained standing, torso and head above the floor, and wearing a very
surprised expression.  Fortunately the
play is meant to be a comedy, however, the howls of laughter from the audience
came at an unexpected time.
I tried participating in just
one play as a college freshman.  The
theater department had a good national reputation, so I thought that I would
see what it was like.  I played the
servant “Mishka” in “The Inspector General.” 
I don’t recall seeing any mention of me in any newspaper rave
reviews.  Apparently, I didn’t have the
immediately recognizable attributes of stunning stature, handsome looks, and
captivating voice to merit much attention.  The young stud who starred in “The Fantasticks”
was a corn-fed Kansas boy whose natural talent and good looks guaranteed the
role, even without any prior experience. 
Apparently, I was destined to play character roles such as servants,
extras, or just one of the elves.
There is one charming play
that I sentimentally recall.  Although I
never had the pleasure to be in it, I saw a wonderful production of it by my
university theater department and, later when I arrived in Denver, by the young
students at Arapahoe Community College. 
The play was “Dark of the Moon,” a folk-play about simple back-woods
people living in the Smokey Mountains. 
Although the theme and setting may seem too antiquated for these modern
times, it was remarkably popular for many years from the 1940s through the
1970s, so much so that up-and-coming actors such as Paul Newman eagerly wished
to be part of the play. 
The story in a “nutshell” was
that “John Boy” fell in love with “Barbary Allen,” a beautiful girl previously
never seen in those hills.  It turns out
that she is a witch-girl with no soul and who lives three hundred years, after
which she turns into Smokey-Mountain mist. 
Of course, the story has love, rivalry, and tragedy.  There also were occasional scenes at the
general store with the old folks sitting around the pot-bellied stove with
their musical instruments and singing Appalachian ballads that coincided with
the story.  I became so fond of the story
that I bought the script to read, twice, once because I loaned a copy to a
friend who failed to return it. 
Now that I have reached my
dotage, I recall “Dark of the Moon” with sardonic humor.  That is because I recall the youngsters of
Arapahoe Community College doing their best to imitate the elderly, they
themselves never having experienced the stiffness, pain, and other afflictions
of old age.  They did their best, but
somehow, they just did not look convincingly old.  And, I don’t think that additional experience
acting would have made any difference.
© 2 Aug 2012 
About the Author 
I also realize that, although my own life has
not brought me I have had a life-long fascination with people and their life
stories.  particular fame or fortune, I
too have had some noteworthy experiences and, at times, unusual ones.  Since I joined this Story Time group, I have
derived pleasure and satisfaction participating in the group.  I do put some thought and effort into my
stories, and I hope that you find them interesting.

Acting by Ricky

All the world’s a stage,
And all the men and women merely players,
They have their exits and entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse’s arms.



Did I mewl as an infant? Of course. All infants do; but I refused to puke “in the nurse’s arms,” because I had class even as an infant. Because I had class, I only burped up on my parents.

Then, the whining schoolboy with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school.



As a schoolboy I never carried a satchel, just a binder and a handful of books. Those were the days before backpacks became popular to carry school supplies. Naturally, I never, never whined about school; only about having to walk 5 miles to school and back in 3 feet of snow, uphill–both ways. Even then that was only to my children not other school mates and only for those times I missed the school bus.

And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress’ eyebrow.



Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?
Down here you fool. The ladder broke.

(I’m just playing my part as the group’s smart alec.)

I must admit I was hot with passion to and for my female better half and my coming out was quite woeful but I just couldn’t put it into a ballad. Somehow singing, “I’ll be coming out the closet when I come. I’ll be coming out the closet when I come,” just didn’t seem appropriate. Unfortunately, while my ladder still works, it just doesn’t reach the balcony anymore.

Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard, 

Jealous in honour, sudden, and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon’s mouth.

I hold that being an officer in the Air Force is better than being a soldier, at least comfort wise. In any case, we did take an oath and we couldn’t have beards “like the pard.” (A “pard” is a literary noun meaning a leopard or panther.) There is much emphasis on honor in the military and in-fighting or back-stabbing among members who should be cooperating with each other is also common. Even when facing the “cannon’s mouth” soldiers will defy logic and do the most selfless and heroic deeds but not to advance their reputations; that honor goes to the leaders who order men into foolish battles.

And then the justice 

In fair round belly, with good capon lin’d,
With eyes severe, and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws, and modern instances,
And so he plays his part.

I’m not sure my children would agree that I ever meted out justice. They would agree about the round belly but the “fair” part is questionable. My eyes are not severe (unless I’m angry) and once again I have no beard–this week. My wise saws are mostly interpreted to be wise cracks, but I do play my part.

The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slipper’d pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose, and pouch on side,
His youthful hose well sav’d, a world too wide,
For his shrunk shank, and his big manly voice,
Turning again towards childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound.

I’ve definitely arrived in this age but still passing through. I wear slippers and also wear sleep-pants which in my opinion can pass for pantaloons here. Clearly I wear spectacles on my nose but my pouch is a paunch and is in front. My youthful hose I abandoned long ago when they began to smell up the house. Fortunately, I’ve not lost my big manly voice, yet and I’m not looking forward to it either.

Last scene of all, 

That ends this strange eventful history, 
Is second childishness and mere oblivion, 
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.

I’m not sure I ever left my first childishness but when I get to the “last scene,” I suspect that I will not be in any condition to recognize it — or any other actors still on stage with me.

© 29 Mar 2012

About the Author

I was born in June of 1948 in Los
Angeles, living first in Lawndale and then in Redondo Beach. Just prior to
turning 8 years old in 1956, I began living with my grandparents on their farm
in Isanti County, Minnesota for two years during which time my parents
divorced.
When united with my mother and
stepfather two years later in 1958, I lived first at Emerald Bay and then at
South Lake Tahoe, California, graduating from South Tahoe High School in 1966.
After three tours of duty with the Air Force, I moved to Denver, Colorado where
I lived with my wife and four children until her passing away from
complications of breast cancer four days after the 9-11 terrorist attack.

I came out as a gay man in the
summer of 2010. I find writing these memories to be therapeutic.

My story blog is
TheTahoeBoy.Blogspot.com

Acting by Betsy

“ALL THE WORLD’S A STAGE 

AND ALL THE MEN AND WOMEN 
MERELY PLAYERS.”

One interpretation of this quotation from As You Like It by William Shakespeare, albeit taken out of the context of the play itself, is that the only difference between acting on stage and life itself is that on the stage an actor plays many different roles attempting to portray another individual, other than himself, and this is a professional endeavor. In life we play many different roles expressing who we ourselves are–not who someone else is.

One can be many things at one time or the roles can change. Daughter, son, sister, bother, wife, husband, mother, father, executive, homemaker, social butterfly, recluse, quiet, boisterous, studious etc, etc. Most of us do act according to the role that has been assigned to us and/or the role that we choose. The roles for us early in life are written largely by our culture and the environment which molds us.

As adults other circumstances have an impact on how we play our roles. For example, one can find himself in a particular profession or job in which he/she is expected to drive a certain car, wear certain clothes–necktie, high heels. In this case often the individual must act the part if he wants to be successful and accepted in his profession or to keep his job.

Hopefully most of us act our roles honestly and with integrity; that is, we are acting but at the same time being true to ourselves. Most of us in the GLBT community know quite a bit about acting. As for me, once I convinced myself that I had done nothing wrong and that I simply wanted to act the person that I am–that is, that I wanted to be honest and live with integrity–once I understood that, it was not difficult to play the role. What’s more it felt oh so good and so easy and natural. Instead of acting the part of the person I was not.

New meaning is given to the word “acting” when we apply the connotation of “taking action.” There’s “pro-acting and re-acting.” Again, those of us in the LGBT community are very familiar with the concept of taking action when we decided to be true to ourselves in our lifestyles. This is not always easy to do and often takes a great deal of courage.

In general I think most of us are reactive most of the time. Proaction comes when things are not going so well. Hopefully proaction is taken based on the correct information. When the word on the street is that everything is just fine when it really isn’t, one must determine how things really are. Then take action.

© 19 March 2012

About the Author

Betsy has been active in the GLBT community including PFLAG, the Denver women’s chorus, OLOC (Old Lesbians Organizing for Change). She has been retired from the Human Services field for about 15 years. Since her retirement, her major activities include tennis, camping, traveling, teaching skiing as a volunteer instructor with National Sports Center for the Disabled, and learning. Betsy came out as a lesbian after 25 years of marriage. She has a close relationship with her three children and enjoys spending time with her four grandchildren. Betsy says her greatest and most meaningful enjoyment comes from sharing her life with her partner of 25 years, Gillian Edwards.

Acting by Gillian

I have often said that members of the GLBT community are the best actors around. Most of us played a part for at least some of our lives after all: a few for most or even all of it.
I’m not so sure it was acting though, in my case at least, and I can only speak for myself.
I don’t know what it was, and I have never tried to write about it before so who knows what sense it will make.

But here goes.

I’m tempted to say, I was two people, but that’s not quite right; not what I understand, and admittedly that’s very little, schizophrenia to be.
It was not that I had more than one personality and they were interchangeable, coming and going on some undisclosed schedule. 
They certainly were not equal partners.
Rather, my body was off doing its own thing while the real me, whatever form that took, was separate, flitting about somewhere, watching what my body was up to.
I mean, how weird is that?
I have described this, verbally, to a few other GLBT people, but have yet to hear anyone say
Oh yes I know exactly what you mean …… it was just the same for me ……. anything like that.

But anyway ……. Back to my body and soul. Not that I pretend to grasp the meaning of the word soul but it’s the best I can do given the situation; something other than, quite apart from, my body.
My body went on its merry way: working, marrying, raising kids.
I watched. Rather like watching a play.

I didn’t judge.
I didn’t advise.
I observed.
I felt nothing.

That body was not me. At least the life it lived was not.
The bodily me was not unhappy. The bodily me felt very little.
It was not happy, neither was it unhappy.
It just was.

This continued until around forty, when I was swept away in an avalanche of emotion and came out. 
To myself, and that was all that mattered.
I will never forget that moment when I knew, unequivocally, what and who I was.
The two parts of me came together.
They had never been joined.
Not as long as I could remember.
Now they were.
Now we were.

I have been one ever since.

About the Author

I was born and raised in England. After graduation from college there, I moved to the U.S. and, having discovered Colorado, never left. I have lived in the Denver-Boulder area since 1965, working for 30 years at IBM. I married, raised four stepchildren, then got divorced after finally, in my forties, accepting myself as a lesbian. I have now been with my wonderful partner Betsy for 25 years.

Acting by Donny Kaye

Acting.  Actors. 
Acting out.  Acting up.  Acting weird. 
Strange acting.  Not acting
right.  Was that just an act?  Act your age. 
Is this the final act?  Acts of
the apostles. An act of Congress. A heroic act. 
Caught in the act.

When does the actor put away
the act and become real? 

When do I finally become
real, and begin to act?

What an interesting
word.  It is only three letters in length
excluding a different suffix.  It seems
that the use of the word would result in clarity and yet, it like most of our
language is not as precise as it is assumed. 
The user as well as the one to whom the word is being directed can exist
with very different interpretations of the intended meaning and consequently
great disparity regarding the meaning of what it is that is actually being
talked about. 

Saturday morning a small
group of friends gathered on my balcony for early morning coffee.  We talked about love.  We talked about relationships.  We talked about sexuality and its
relationship to spirituality.  The
conversation was rich and filled with energy that stretched the coffee hour to
nearly four, yet we grew increasingly aware of the differences in how we each
language our thoughts and how both speaker and the listener often do not exist with
shared mind around the intended meaning even though we used similar language to
express our thoughts and ideas.

As a child I don’t remember
when I didn’t notice men.  Their bodies
were exciting for me to gaze upon.  There
were teachers at school.  There were
young men and boys in the neighborhood. 
I especially remember Mr. Harrington, my accordion teacher who also
owned a bright red ’56 Mercury convertible who had captured my attention by the
age of 10, well beyond cording and bellow-shakes.  In elementary school we got to attend a
ballet at the Denver Auditorium Theatre and my interest in that ballet was in
the costuming, especially the men’s tights which seemed ever so-o revealing.
Any interest I’ve ever had in football was focused on the tight fitting
player’s jersey, pants and their muscular torsos. 

Along with the awareness was
a cultured learning to act as if I didn’t notice other males.  My actions were about acting right and not
acting interested or acting badly as a result of my interests in other
males.  My actions were intended to help
me deny my very own orientation.  I
needed to act like my culture and what my parents, family and religion
expected.  There was no room for acting
out my sexual interests.  I became a
skilled actor in maintaining a secret that resulted in any number of
undesirable actions on my part resulting from my denial, frustration and anger
and not experiencing the spaciousness to be who I am. 

When I would take action on
my sexual orientation, my performance expectations as an actor merely had to
increase to act as if nothing was going on in my life that could be associated
with the actions of a queer. In many realms of my life, I acted as a seasoned
breeder, winning many accolades for my convincing performances. 

Today I am no longer acting
as a result of my shame for my sexual orientation.  I am taking action to live in integrity with
my very Being.  My acts now are more
complete, grounded in compassion and an increasing sense of self worth.  My actions are expressions of my awareness of
wholeness as a gay man. I ‘act’ out with a deepening sense of pride in who it
is that I Am.  In most realms of my life
the actions have not changed, however; the actions are expressions not of an actor,
playing a prescribed part but instead as, Donny the one taking action for
living this life.

Acting.  Actors. 
Acting out.  Acting up.  Acting weird. 
Strange acting.  Not acting
right.  Was that just an act?  Act your age. 
Is this the final act?

Possibly!

About the Author