Inigo Montoya had a dream.  Of which  he was so impassioned, so determined he dedicated his life for it from the time he was a boy. For twenty years he trained and prepared in a maniacal way that would put Rocky Balboa to shame. All for that inevitable moment when he would come face to face with his destiny.

And with a flick of the wrist, it was over. He had accomplished his task. The six-fingered man laid on the cold hard floor of the dining room with a gaping and bloody hole in his stomach. A few moments later, Inigo reflected on his past and on his now uncertain future. “Now that I’ve been in the revenge business for so long, I don’t know what to do with the rest of my life.”

Auditions were in June of this year. June! That was like 43 months ago! Not really, but when you consider that most shows audition then begin rehearsals two weeks later, and Jekyll was more like audition and then six weeks later begin rehearsals, not to mention that the rehearsal schedule was two weeks longer than normal as well, time adds up. And it’s fair to say I have never been involved with a show that has spread itself sometimes like a warm, fuzzy blanket, sometimes like a cancer over such a long period of my life.

And now that it’s over, I’m at a bit of a loss.

Actually, not really. I’m fine and this is why: when this all began, I knew there’d be a price (yes, a line from a song I don’t sing.) This show, in many ways, was an experiment. An opportunity to see what I was capable of as well as to discover what the commitment of the show would do to the rest of my life. If there were more to come of this sort of thing, it would be nice to know what the lifestyle and commitment would be. So I gave it everything I had. And I came away with more than I could ever imagine.

It’s like Charlie Brown going to pick out a Christmas tree and I’m the tree. Here I am, standing in a virtual tree lot with all kinds of larger, prettier, more contemporary and certainly more popular styles of trees. Trees with lots of branches for big ornaments, plenty of space around the trunk for maximum gift storage, and wonderful winterfresh scents of evergreen wafting from every aisle. And then there’s me. Some raggedy looking thing that’s been hanging around the lot for far too long, hoping to be picked by some loving family so I can, once in my life, shine. For years, the hope of strung lights and shiny bulbs and dare I dream a star on my crown kept me standing as tall and straight as I could. But as each season passed and the families passed me by, my confidence, as I have recorded here, waned.

And then, all of a sudden, without me really realizing it, the season came around again, and this time, there was a new kind of ornament. A kind that I had heard about, a kind that had been hung on other trees from other lots, but not here. And oh, how wonderful did I think it would be, to have that ornament hanging off of whatever branches I had left...but really? Could I think so grand as to be chosen this year of all years?

So I stand up straight and tall, give what I could to my branches and needles. And lo and behold, Charlie Brown and Linus  follow the search lights to the tree lot and say, “Gee, do they still make wooden Christmas trees?”

“This little green one here seem to need a home.”
“I don’t know Charlie Brown.”
“I’ll decorate it, and it will be just right for our play.”

I could be wrong, but I can only imagine that there were those for and against me on the selection committee. I was very inexperienced and virtually unknown, but someone must have seen something natural and real in my audition that drew them to select me. Just needs some decoration, they may have thought, and he’ll be just right.

Well, I’m sure there were times where they wondered whether or not I would work. I wondered myself, what I had gotten myself into, and whether or not I could pull it off. Like the first time I sang Confrontation, that was pretty much like Charlie Brown  putting on a red ornament and the tree just bending straight over.

But with the help of the entire peanuts gang - my cast - and taking some ornaments and decor from a true professional, namely Anthony Warlow and Dean Kaelin, I became a tree of the season that was beyond even my own vivid and detailed imagination.

It’s been a fascinating and incredible experience. I have learned so much about myself, what I am capable of, I have certainly reached a new level of talent, both vocally and dramatically. And seeing progress is just so much fun. What is even more fun is seeing paying customers completely satisfied with how they spent their money.  After the first week, we were sold out every performance, including the 7 extended shows that took less than a week to sell. We received standing ovations every night. People saw the show multiple times within the run and we had sometime 50 people standing by, hoping to get a seat. They loved it.

And that’s why I’m fine with it being over. I think we accomplished everything we could with it. I gave my best every night. I was exhausted physically and emotionally after each show. My voice, except for the spicy rib night, was clear and clean.  I did everything I could for my part to make it a great show. I held nothing back. I fought the good fight. I kept the faith.

Of course, I will miss the great folks in the cast. They were exceptional in every way. Great talent, sure. But no divas. No arrogance. No jealousy. We worked together for the same goal and it was achieved and then some. I hope they know how I feel about them and their greatness. I hope they will remember me as  much as I expect to remember them.

So now it’s on to other things. I’m already waist deep into other projects, no, none of them theater. I’m taking a break from the lights for a while. A long while.  I’m working on the book primarily, which should be out late fall of 2009.  And after experiencing achievement in perhaps the most difficult role ever brought to musical theater, anything else seems like a veritable walk in the park.

Even piracy.

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