Ray Barnhart

Who Am I Anyway, Part 2

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I found a few more Black and White headshots.  Looking at these pictures made me think about the times I had my pictures taken. My first headshot shoot was a photographer I found in Backstage. I had been in NY a few months, fretting about not having a headshot. He lived in Stuyvesant Town and took pictures out of his living room. I picked him because, even though I was very closeted at the time, I thought he was cute. He kept telling me to imagine the camera was a pretty girl that I liked. My second headshot shoot was with a fashion photographer my friend Tania knew. I worked as his assistant for a day and he gave me a discount rate on the session. I actually enjoyed working as his assistant, being on set for a catalog shoot at a loft in Chelsea. I don’t know where that picture is, but I do have the requisite jean shirt that was de rigueur for every 1994 actor headshot. When I moved to LA, I had to get new LA headshots. My favorite photographer was a guy named Sandy Spear. He lived near Sycamore and 4th and he’d take his pictures in the neighborhood. I think he charged something ridiculously affordable like $80/ roll and all you needed was one roll, because he was a great photographer. Also, his wife had been in the Off-Broadway production of the Real Live Brady Bunch as Marsha. I just looked him up and it looks like he lives in San Diego and is still taking pictures. I also had a photo shoot with a maitre d’ at one of the restaurants where I worked. He insisted on taking every actor’s picture. The one thing I most remember about the guy is that he kept slices of brisket in his suit jacket pocket so he could snack when he got hungry. The pictures aren’t too bad, but the Olin Mills type back drop blending with the Lance Bass frosted tips I had at the time make it look like there are fireworks coming out of my head. My last black and white photo shoot was a guy named Timothy Fielding in 2002. He asked me if I wanted to do half b & w and half color, I said no, I didn’t think the color trend would last very long.

Mrs. Shepard

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One of the many pleasures of my trip home was seeing two of my former teachers, Lea Shepard and Linda Spencer.  Mrs. Shepard is retiring this year after 35 years of teaching at Independence High School.  She was my speech teacher and forensics coach.  She was the person who introduced the plays of Neil Simon to me and the first person I thought of years later when I met him.   I made a joke on Facebook yesterday that I found my old forensics medals and that I was going to bring them back to LA and start wearing them to my commercial auditions.  I actually did come across these medals, and there are a few and I remembered the elation I felt when I won my first one, a silver for Humorous Solo Acting with God’s Favorite, by Neil Simon.  Believe it or not, I had not been a fine athlete and it wasn’t until this moment, at 15, that I found something at which I excelled a little.  And Mrs. Shepard was there.  In fact, she picked the piece for me. She must have sensed I had a little bit of Charles Nelson Reilly in me.

After the festival on Saturday, there was a party and I got to spend a little time with her because we were sitting at the same table.  It’s fun going to the bar and getting drinks for your favorite teacher.   We talked about ghosts, high school, theatre, Independence, Inge.  At the end of the night, as my friend Joel and I were saying goodbye to her, partially fueled by budget Chardonnay, I was overcome with emotion, thinking how much this woman had impacted the lives of me and many others.  My voice was shaky and I said, “Not to get all Goodbye, Mr. Chips here, but I want you to know how much you meant to me.” It was a little clumsy and it did not know go the way, I’d hoped (Extemporaneous Speaking was NOT my category). And then I made a joke that, “If a 44-year-old drunk gay guy is standing here weeping about what a good teacher you are, that must mean SOMETHING.” And then we laughed and then we left the party. When I think of teachers, I think of Lea Shepard. If you are reading this, and you had Mrs. Shepard, you probably feel the same way. And if you did not have Mrs. Shepard, I hope you had A Mrs. Shepard. At the festival, several times I heard people ask her what she was going to do after retirement. It was something I asked her myself. I don’t know what’s next but, I feel her future holds unlimited potential, the kind of potential she alway made her students feel like they had.

Woolaroc (Woods, Lakes, Rocks)

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After the excitement of my Dad’s birthday party and the Inge Festival, my parents and I thought it might be fun to visit Woolaroc in Bartlesville, Oklahoma today. Woolaroc, a play on woods, lakes and rocks, is the estate of Phillips 66 founder Frank Phillips. There is a museum, a lodge where they used to live, a petting zoo and grounds with buffalo (and other animals) roaming. Growing up in Independence, every year we visited Woolaroc for a school field trip. Nostalgia addict that I am, I enjoyed revisiting a place that I had not been to in at least 25 years. I’ve posted a few pictures from the day, some are better than others.

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Ralph Meeker is Gay, or rather, Ralph Meeker is Gay?

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Yesterday, at the Festival, someone was telling an anecdote about the actor Ralph Meeker. The anecdote itself is not worth repeating but the takeaway for me was that Ralph Meeker, according to this person’s mother, was gay and struggled with playing the course, virile Hal in the original Broadway production of Picnic. Obviously, as an actor who often plays heterosexuals (though usually less course, virile ones) I was reminded of the on going challenge for the gay actor playing straight. I suppose in some ways it was easier and then in some ways more difficult. And then, I thought I would do a little google sleuthing to find out more stories about Meeker’s sexuality. I found nothing. Nothing on IMDB, nothing on Wikipedia, even gayorstraight.com said he was heterosexual. So, who knows. I will say that looking at old pictures, I do wish he was gay, he is a heartthrob. Maybe it’s a little inappropriate to out an actor who does not seem keen on being outed from his grave, but I suppose at the end of the day, Ralph Meeker was an actor. I’m sure he’s just glad people are still talking about him.

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Notes from the William Inge Theatre Festival

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It’s 1:30 am and I’m in bed, trying to go to sleep but I can’t turn my brain off. I spent the day and evening taking in the William Inge Festival here in Independence. It’s an annual theatre festival and I have not attended one for over 15 years. There were several highlights but the big one for me was a talk with the actress Elizabeth Wilson. You might not know her by name but she was Ralph Fiennes’ mother in Quiz Show, Dustin Hoffman’s mother in The Graduate and is perhaps best known as Roz in Nine to Five. Most recently, at 91, she was in Hyde Park on Hudson as Franklin Roosevelt’s mother. There’s not a scene she’s in that doesn’t belong to her. I’m still thinking about something she said today. She was talking about working with Kim Stanley in the original Broadway production of Picnic. She said Ms. Stanley revealed so much that it was like she had no skin. As she said it, she grabbed her arm and pinched her skin. She told us that Inge was the same way, giving everything he had inside of him. Another woman in the panel, actress and writer Barbara Dana talked about how magical it had been to watch Elizabeth play Sonia in Uncle Vanya in the early 70s. And because I’m always thinking about age, I did the math and realized she was over 50 when she played her. Sonia is around 20. I have such a habit of limiting myself, doubting what I am capable of and there’s something so brave about a 50 year old playing a 20 year old. It reminded me to always see the possibilities. She also was told us a piece of information about Dolly Parton that surprised me and no, it’s not what you think. Anyway, it’s now 2:30 and I’m even more tired, but I wanted to share a little about my day. And if you ever see a 47 year old me playing Tom in The Glass Menagerie, you have Elizabeth Wilson to blame.

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The Best Donut in the World

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My favorite Raymond Carver short story ends with a baker offering a hot roll to a grief-stricken mother and telling her, “Eating is a small, good thing in a time like this.” Whenever I read the story, in my mind, the action takes place in the donut shop of my hometown, Daylight Donuts. I have eaten a lot of donuts in a lot of different towns. Dude’s in Joplin, Donut Pub in my old Chelsea neighborhood, and S.K.’s Donuts at 3rd & Cochran in LA are among my favorite donut shops but hands down, my favorite donut is this one from Daylight Donuts. The place hasn’t changed much since the days I worked at my Dad ‘s gas station and he would give me money to walk there and buy donuts for the station’s staff and customers. It was the only part of my job description at which I excelled. I think they used to call this donut a headlight. The icing to donut ratio is perfect and the buttercream on top makes you feel like you’re eating a piece of cake. It’s small, good thing, for any time.

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How the Nelson-Atkins got me through last Summer

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John Singer Sargent , American , 1856-1925 , b. Italy Mrs. Cecil Wade, 1886

John Singer Sargent , American , 1856-1925 , b. Italy
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Wayne Thiebaud , American , b. 1920 Apartment Hill, 1980

Wayne Thiebaud , American , b. 1920
Apartment Hill, 1980

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Last July, I spent nearly three weeks in Kansas City. My Dad had major surgery and my Mom stayed with him in the hospital room and I stayed nearby at a Ronald McDonald House type place. It was for the three of us a sad time, a scary time, an unstable time. One benefit of the experience is that I was able to reconnect with old friends who now live in Kansas City. I got to spend a lot of time with my cousins who shuffled their schedules to visit my Dad regularly. But to be honest, I spent a lot of time feeling lost. My Dad was sick and we worried how long it would take for him to get better or if he even would get better. And at night, I would lie on this little twin bed in this old Victorian house and miss my life in LA, my friends, Eric, the dogs, happy hour at Marie Callender’s. I would drive around in oppressive Kansas-in-July heat and think, all this would be a little easier to deal with if the temperature would just drop 15 degress. A few times, I escaped to to the Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art. I’d walk the rooms and remember works that I’d seen before and works that I must have seen before but that were new to me now. A few paintings, like Paul Raphael Meltsner’s Paul, Marcella and Van Gogh (No.2), Fairfield Porter’s Wheat and Keith Jacobshagen’s Crow Call (Near the River) made me quite emotional. It was as if the sadness I walked around with was released by experiencing these beautiful works of art. Especially Crow Call that reminded me of so many Kansas skies that I grew up with, skies that I still miss occasionally. It’s sad and hopeful and bright and dark and it’s the duality of it that spoke to me. It eased my pain, made me feel like a boy again. For as long as I live, whenever I see these pieces, I will be transported to the summer of 2012, when a few paintings helped me get through a very tough time. That’s Art’s job, but it’s also it’s gift.

Who Am I, Anyway?

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A few years ago, I started collecting old black and white headshots. I love them. I like color headshots, too, but I think there is something so romantic and dramatic about the b & w’s. When I look at my old headshots, I want to start singing, “I really need this job, please God, I need this job…” Here are a few pics from my collection. Every one of them tells a story. Also, if you’re reading this and you want to send me YOUR old b & w headshot, please do.

Eve Plumb is Not Bitter

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I wanted to post something a little lighter today.  I was going to post a video of The Brady Bunch singing as the Silver Platters.  But then, I found this clip of Eve Plumb on the Jenny Jones show, probably from around 15 years ago.  The clip is called “Eve Plumb is NOT BITTER, DAMN IT!”  It made me laugh.  Jan was my favorite Brady, I actually sent her a fan letter when I was little and she sent me an autographed picture that I still count among my treasures.  When I first moved to LA, I found myself standing behind her in the checkout at Ralph’s once.  I so wanted to tell her what a happy part of my childhood she was.  I did not say anything, I suspect any contact would have made her feel uncomfortable.  Also, it could have turned out llke the time I went up to Shirley Knight at a different Ralph’s and told her how much I loved her and with each word I said I sounded like I’d breathed in a little more cocaine-laced helium.  Eve Plumb still acts, she recently appeared off-Broadway, but has also become known as a painter.  I’ve included a couple of her paintings.  I hesitated about posting the Jenny Jones clip, I’ve seen her in several more recent interviews where she is much more gracious about her Brady legacy.  I think maybe time, and perhaps her success as a painter, has softened some of the bitterness.  Either way, she’s still my favorite Brady!  And you know what, just because I can, I posted the Silver Platters video, too!Image

Turn a Page

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Like a lot of people, I try to always have a book that I’m reading.  Ever since I was little, I’ve loved books.  The two books I just finished, Coral Glynn by Peter Cameron and Harvard Square by Andre Aciman took me on similar journeys.  Each time, I was reading the book, enjoying it somewhat, and then halfway in, something happened and I could not stop reading until I was finished. With a turn of a page, I went from liking to loving.  It’s not uncommon when that happens, but it doesn’t occur every time. Believe me, I hope it will happen soon with the book that I’m currently reading, which I have been reading for over two weeks now.  Not long ago, someone asked me if I was a writer and I replied, no, I’m not, but I am this delusional person who reads something and feels like he’s written it.  That’s what I said at the time and I’m not saying I’m not delusional, but what I think I meant was reading is a collaboration. When you read something that affects you, you are in cahoots with the author. I’m not saying Peter Cameron or Armistead Maupin or Edmund White or John Irving write for only me, but sometimes it does feel that personal. Saul Bellow famously said, “A writer is a reader moved to emulation.” I guess that’s why I started this blog. I’ve felt so clumsy in the last two weeks trying to weave these pieces together, it’s been humbling. It’s also been intoxicating. Last week, I wrote a sentence, so well-crafted, I could not believe it came from my consciousness. I’m still congratulating myself, clearly. But with the highs and lows, I keep going in hopes that eventually, with a turn of a page, I’ll go from reader to writer.
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