Memory and Frustration

The idea of retirement is very appealing to me. I had a taste of it during an extended furlough from my job and I think I’ll be pretty darn good at it if I can figure out how to supplement my Social Security income somehow. I did an exceptionally poor job preparing for my post-work years and my resources won’t permit me to simply stop working. I think I have that in common with many people my age.

But assuming I overcome that minor barrier to quitting the rat race, I have many interests that would keep me occupied given the time to pursue them, not the least of which is the continuation of this blog-podcast-YouTube channel.

One thing I always thought I would return to given the chance was an acting career I abandoned. I started a second career in sales when the responsibility of a family became a priority, but I spent the better part of thirty years as an actor. I had some success, performing Off-Off Broadway, earning my SAG card as a union film actor and even winning a Best Actor award in 1990 in my adopted city of Richmond, VA. The stage was where I felt I most belonged, where I felt I had some actual expertise as well as a personal fulfillment I otherwise only achieved with my child. I was at home on stage with people that understood me, shared my willingness to risk humiliation for the possibility of something wonderful, an emotional communication with perfect strangers. It was both collaborative and deeply personal, two ways of being that can be strongly at odds with each other.

I think at my core, an actor is what I was.

As I approach the age that retirement might make it possible to add acting to my schedule, I am facing a different challenge that makes the idea of going back on the boards terrifying.

There are days my memory utterly fails me.

We all see the humorous memes on Facebook about going in the kitchen and forgetting why we are there, or looking for our glasses and finding them on the top of our heads. They get a chuckle, but when you’re living that moment we all know the real frustration of it, and what it represents. It isn’t likely to get better. It’s a harbinger of things to come which is used to sell all kinds of miracle cures unrecognized by the FDA. Aging is a one way street, and the far end of it has some potholes, before it comes to a dead end.

Just a couple of days ago I was talking with a friend at work and as is commonplace with us we were chatting about movies. I wanted to make a reference to a favorite of mine, The Big Chill. I could remember line after line from it, choice insights I cherish from it, but when I asked “Have you seen…” the title simply escaped me. I couldn’t retrieve it for all I was worth, and ultimately had to rely on the Google machine to fill in the blanks in my memory.

It was horrifying, but not that uncommon anymore. In fact it’s less and less uncommon, a part of my reality now and a legitimate reason for my appreciation of technology. Google is my memory’s external hard drive.

When I won my award for acting in 1990 it was for a one-man show called Drinking In America by Eric Begosian. You may know him as Captain Danny Ross from Law & Order. It was a series of 12 monologues depicting the vagaries of the male experience in then contemporary America. Very disparate characters, very challenging and deeply rewarding. To perform that show, I had to memorize a book. After memorizing it I had to bring it to life as best I could as well, so the memorization had to be so thorough, so secondary that I could envelop myself in the world of these people, not just the recitation of a speech. That is what every actor has to accomplish when the lights come on and the performance begins.

I simply don’t know that I have that ability anymore.

Every so often I will try to commit a speech to memory just to see if I can do it. I don’t take it too seriously and the effort is halfhearted, but it is a struggle and since there is no deadline I chuckle and give up.

But what if there was a deadline? What if something was at stake, if others depended on me to know these words, and they needed me to know them by a certain date, and repeat them at a certain time? By opening night.

“Death of a Salesman”s Willy Loman may be the most iconic American character in all of our nation’s dramaturgy. A portrait of a 63 year old man desperate to be successful in a society that demands it and facing he is aging past any hope of that happening.

Lee J. Cobb was 37 when he originated the role. Dustin Hoffman played him when he was 46, and Philip Seymour Hoffman was 44. I can’t help but think that the demands of that character, which are epic, require the resources of a younger man to play him. I am exactly Willy’s age right now, and the task of bringing that man to life, and ultimately to death, is daunting.

I have no doubt that there are many actors my age that would have the wherewithal to take on the task, but I’m sure there are even more like me that are starting to combat the retention that sooner or later we all lose. Part of it is the practice of memorization, which I am now twenty years removed from. What was once a regular routine is now a skill I rarely exercise. Perhaps it’s like a muscle that could be rebuilt, starting easily and working it back to strength.

So maybe, if I am able to figure out a way to retire at all, I’ll try to work myself back on to the stage with a small role, a baby step that won’t tax my atrophying brain too badly, maybe gradually increasing my confidence to attempt something a bit more challenging.

Is the world ready for a 70 year old playing Willy?