Eight Impressions of a Lunatic (play)

Self with Tracey Field
Photo: Anthony Gray

Last night, I had an artist date at the Cleveland Art Museum. It’s been on my list of things to do, all summer. Just … go to the art museum. If you are unfamiliar, you should go. It’s free. Just walk in, like always, now and forever. The only thing that’s changed is that apparently they recently added metal detectors. So it goes, ç'est la vie.

A quarter century ago, the year 1998, was heady and dizzying. Among other events, I had been cast to perform the role of French modernist painter Édouard Manet in Eight Impressions of a Lunatic by Sarah Morton. Auditions had been almost an entire year before the planned August production, presented by Red Hen, Cleveland’s Feminist Theatre, providing me ample time to conduct research into a historical character about whom I knew absolutely nothing.

I also stopped shaving and cutting my hair the day another Sarah Morton play I performed, Love In Pieces, closed that March at Cleveland Public Theatre. Five months to cultivate the bushy beard and shaggy mane of the great forerunner of those artists who would be known collectively as the Impressionists.

"Berthe Morisot"
by Édouard Manet
(c. 1869-1873)
Cleveland Museum of Art

Manet himself was not an “impressionist” (he did not like that term) he was that hipster guy who already had a reputation and who the new kids looked up to (my Millennial friends might relate) if the kids were named Renoir, Monet, Degas or Berthe Morisot. Morton’s Eight Impressions is centered on the person of Morisot (performed for Red Hen by Tracey Field) a play consisting of eight scenes from her life in which few characters, other than she, appear more than once.

The CMA has a few selections from these artists, works from the last couple decades of the nineteenth century. We have one panel from a triad of Water Lilies paintings by Claude Monet (the other two are in Kansas City and St. Louis) and the museum has kindly provided a bench upon which I have sat many times to immerse myself.

To see the lilies, floating on the surface, and to observe the surface. And beneath the surface, all the way down to the grasses growing on the floor of the pond. Seeing through the water, which is not water at all. Calming and fascinating, all at the same time.

Also on display is one of Manet’s many portraits of Morisot and it was interesting to me the extent to which he would ask her to sit for him. I wondered if he respected her as an artist in her own right, or just his attractive colleague.

In the one scene in which Manet appears in Morton’s play, she has a painting which she plans to submit for exhibition, he visits and hie appraising the work, he thoughtlessly begins to amend the work – to add his own touches to her painting. This is a thing which actually happened.

"Édouard Manet"
by Henri Fantin-Latour
(1867)
Art Institute of Chicago

It filled me with great pride to play this role, and I thought I looked fantastic. My favorite image of Manet is the portrait by Henri Fantin-Latour, which I had the opportunity to see once at the Chicago Institute of Art. I think I managed to pull off the look very well, thanks also to the costume designer.

The person of Manet resonated with me as I learned more about his life story. He wanted his work to be respected by the tastemakers and those whose opinions matter about such things, but he was following his own artistic path, refusing to conform to the classical dictates of the time. His work Le Déjeuner sur l'herbe (Luncheon on the Grass) was not accepted into the Salon (the wildly important and official art exhibition of the Académie des Beaux-Arts) and so allowed it to be shown as part of the first Salon des Refusés or “Salon of the Rejected” which was such a boss power move.

In school there was this actor who would take on the mantle of whatever role he was currently engaged in. First it was Dracula and he started wearing capes. The next year it was Sherlock and he got all tweedy. Finally, he played Percy Bysshe Shelley and things really went off the rails for him. 1998 was my Manet year (you can’t hide that beard) the year I tuned thirty, which was also the year I left Dobama’s Night Kitchen and laid down plans to direct Hamlet with an as-yet unanounced new company. My head was full of ideas and too much time in which to realize them. Which is to say, I was unemployed.

This past Friday night, on my own, I just wandered. I tried to find galleries I hadn’t explored before, I was surprised to find there are places I’ve never seen since the major redesign took place, well over ten years ago. I also learned that the museum restaurant Provenance is once more open for dinner on Wednesdays and Fridays. It hasn’t been since before the shutdown. My wife and I plan to return sometime next week.

I would like to take more artist dates in the foreseeable future, solo time in not only familiar but unusual spaces. I will make a list.

Water Lillies (Agapanthus)
Claude Monet
(c. 1915 - 1926)
Cleveland Museum of Art

The Secret to Superhuman Strength (book)

"The Secret to Superhuman Strength" (2021)
Art & text: Alison Bechdel

Pengo's 2023 Summer Book Club

Reading Alison Bechdel’s third graphic novel, The Secret to Superhuman Strength, I was (of course) reminded of my own attempt to describe my obsession with exercise, the solo performance And Then You Die (How I Ran a Marathon in 26.2 Years).

That was very much my midlife crisis play, parts of it are a bit cringey. But I was trying to search my soul for reasons and understanding, to explain to a lay audience why running is important, even necessary, for my continued existence.

Bechdel’s experience has had a more varied relationship with activities of physical exertion, and describes them with her fascinating attention to detail, in written word and her unique, specific and elegant illustrative style. Not only how to run, bike, ski, hike, to perform karate and yoga, but also the accumulative effect these exercises have on the body, the self, the bank account, as well as interpersonal relationships and family.

"And Then You Die" (2009)
Art: Cat Kenney

By the end of calendar 2022, I was trying to accept the shape I was in, a 190 pound man. I had assembled a fine wardrobe of clothes that looked good fit me comfortably, that did not constrict or pinch; layered looks, a fuller beard. Accepting, but also concealing. Acceptance is good, if you mean it, but I wasn’t happy. 

It wasn’t all vanity, I didn’t feel good. I was uncomfortable, hile driving, sitting. Also, my breathing was not easy, walking up stairs left me winded. Sleeping I could feel my heartbeat throughout my body, sometimes hard, sometimes trembling. It wasn’t good.

And so I made the decision, starting last March First, to dry out, and to eat with more intention. Less sugar, fewer snacks, no alcohol (for that month, anyhow). More recently I made a commitment – with the encouragement of our eldest – to limit my alcohol intake to one drink a day, if that. I have kept this pledge for several week and it has made a difference.

And I resumed running, which I had nearly given up on. Since then I have taken no fewer than twenty runs each month, March, April, May, June, July, and on track for August. I thought I’d never enjoy running again, and I love it more than ever.

"The Secret to Superhuman Strength" (2021)
Art& text: Alison Bechdel

Bechdel’s own relationship with alcohol is something she shares in the book. Wine is her beverage of choice (full glasses and empty bottles rendered in loving detail) as well as her intimate relationships, and how exercise affects, or even fosters those. This was also a major part of my running play, with the pursuit of monogamy, like my recent alcohol control, arrived at as another commitment necessary for my continued happiness and existence.

The book is braided with narratives of the writers Bechdel was affected by at varying stages of her life’s journey – Kerouac, Coleridge, Fuller – and their relationship to nature and the outdoors – which are necessary partners of hiking, running, skiing, climbing, et al. – and the expression and understanding of the self.

This also comes up in my play, as I ruminate while running, over stories by Forster, Cheever, London.

"And Then You Die" (2009)
Art: Cat Kenney

But running or any exercise is one of the few opportunities we allow ourselves to think. Our bodies are occupied, with movement, so our minds are free to wander, consider, and ideally to make connections we may not allow ourselves to make when we are at rest.

Admittedly, this book, my play, these are documents of privilege. Many cannot afford to or are physically unable to spend time and money (all the money) on these physical pursuits. So I appreciate the kinship I share with this author in the ways her personal journey reflects my own* and I am grateful for the opportunities I have had to pursue them. Running has brought me great joy, and has provided a potential path to enlightenment.

The ex-wife once asked if I run the same path every day, because for the most part, I do. A mile to the park, a mile through the park, a mile home. Her question made me ask myself why I do. I doubted. Surely, I should change it up, for reasons both physical and mental. Don’t I get bored? Am I not progressing?

I have decided that, either metaphorically or literally, taking the same path each day may be a key to my enlightenment, or at least acceptance. In meditation, as in life, beginning again, from the start, is not a failure of achievement nor imagination. It just is. Every day we begin again.

It is not unintentional that the cover of The Secret to Superhuman Strength, as well as the chapter chapter pages, are evocative of ink and wash artwork. Bechdel’s relationship with Buddhism is a central theme of the book. As I set out each morning, I hope to enjoy the run itself, to be running, the action itself, not its end.

Last weekend we delivered our youngest to university, and now our house is once more a home for two. My sister-in-law congratulated me, as though it were me that had accomplished something, by successfully concluding some kind of undertaking.

But now that this stage of my life is past, I’d like to think I was more engaged with the journey than working toward the finish line.

My running blog, Daddy Runs Fast, is a chronicle of every run I have taken since 2006.  

*One thing that’s not entirely accurate about And Then You Die is what the protagonist – me – does for a vocation. I made myself a cartoonist. The remarkable Cat Kenney created all of the artwork used for the show.

How I Spent My Summer (2023)

Heights High Graduation

We received an invitation to our friends’ annual Labor Day party and it sent me into an existential spiral. I’ve been doing all right so far, but the empty nest thing is real. We drive our son to university this week, and then, well. It will be the two of us, for the most part, from here on out.

Wow. That’s it? Twenty years, really? Okay, uh. Now what? And the idea of attending the Labor Day party, thrown by friends we only know because of our children, without our children. It kind of brought it all home to me.

Parade the Circle

We’ve been summering like hell in an overcompensation for years of sequestering ourselves, with our children, due to quarantine. Let’s get out and do all the shit. What I have failed to do is have people over very much, not since the end-of-year part of the residency program which sucks because the backyard looks awesome.

Angélique Kidjo

The summer kicked off attending commencement for our youngest, at the Wolstein Center, where I had also received my Master Degree two weeks earlier, followed by a flurry of grad parties, one for himself and more for his friends.

My wife and I have attended three Guardians games (so far) this season, with a variety of friends or on our own. I also had the chance to attend the first Parade the Circle that has been celebrated since 2019. The parade was shorter than usual, which was to be expected, I guess.

Go Guardians!

Theater camp was a big hit, I think we got that one mostly right. I was most delighted that we were able to incorporate a writing component into the camp, and I had several acolytes who were happy to join that rather than do craft.

The Tri-C Jazz Fest was another great public event, where not only did our son perform at one of the outdoor bandstands on East 14th Street, but we also saw Angélique Kidjo, Herbie Hancock and Trombone Shorty. Members of the Jazz Academy went nuts for that last show, almost bringing down the balcony of the Connor Palace.


Video: Jazz ensemble "floor3" at Larchmere PorchFest

Drinks at the Grand Pavilion

We also brought the boy to Cincinnati for orientation – this was all before the end of June.

Last summer I became enamored of the Hotel Breakers at Cedar Point. Not that the place is terribly fancy, it’s not. It’s basic and I like that, and also that it’s right there on the beach. I knew nothing about the Breakers growing up, often my folks would take us to the Point only for the twilight, discount hours. 

Young people in Maine.

When my family first visited the hotel last summer, and as my wife was checking us in, I was looking around, walked straight through the lobby and out the other side to find … the lake! The beach! It’s right there! I had no idea!

Location, location, location.

So we took the boy and his boyfriend for an overnight and while the younger pair of us went off to ride rides, we did something I had never had the chance to, namely: watch the shows. You know, all those shows, performed several times a day, every day, by college students and other young performers. And you know what? They were good!

Four votes against Issue 1

The middle of July, time seemed to slow down a little bit. I had pulled a muscle in my ribs on a ride at the park and my days were full of work business, and other theater-related matters. The last week of July we packed up for Maine, the journey I had missed last year due to retinal detachment surgery. This was also my first time back since we distributed mom’s ashes into the sea. The week was not without strong feelings.

We arrived home in time for the BorderLight Fringe Festival, and this past week the boy played his final gig as a student with School of Rock, the Super Seniors Show at the Mercury Music Lounge in Lakewood. Each of the artists got to choose a song for the ensemble to perform, and he chose Soul Coughing’s “Screenwriter’s Blues.” (see video below)

To round out this list, we attended the opening performance of Fun Home last night at Cain Park.* The production is really, really excellent. The boy said it’s the best production of a musical he’s ever seen. A poignant close to a manic summer, don't you think?

"Fun Home"
(Cain Park, 2023)
Photo: Every Angle Photography

Cain Park presents “Fun Home” directed by Joanna May Cullinan in the Alma Theatre through Sunday, August 27, 2023.

*Did I mention we saw Rufus Wainwright at Cain Park in June? We also saw Rufus Wainwright.

"Step Nine" at the BorderLight Fringe Festival (2023)

Nicholas Chokan & James Alexander Rankin
"Step Nine"
(Give me your keys, 2023)

Last year, James Rankin asked me to write a short play for his new theater project, “Give me your keys.” Specifically, he wanted a piece that could be performed in a bar by two men in their thirties, and by a bar he meant an actual bar. A site-specific piece.

The play I wrote is called Step Nine, an intensely private conversation between two old friends and artistic collaborators who share shameful and complicated secrets. I could have called it You’re So Vain, because of the several people who came to see it performed this weekend, former and present collaborators who thought this play might be about them.

The piece was performed four times this past weekend as part of the BorderLight Fringe Festival, a new and exciting eclectic festival of works produced by artists from near and far. It was a dizzying weekend, and I was delighted to see several other shows but not nearly as many as I would have liked to. And the shows I did attend, most were filled to capacity. There were so many folks downtown for this festival!

Step Nine was set in the Snug at Parnell’s Pub in Playhouse Square, which also happens to be where I celebrated my fiftieth birthday. The Snug is indeed snug, an alcove off the main room, and though the show was free you could say we “sold out” as for each thirty minute performance the place was packed.

James directed the piece, and until Thursday evening I hadn’t even seen a rehearsal. Nick Chokan played one character, the other by three other actors who cycled through the performances, including James himself, Jason Leupold and Luke Brett. They spoke at a conversational level, motivating the audience to lean in.

Folks who arrived late and couldn’t fit into the room craned their necks through the doors, some on Friday night opting to wander away to the bar and instead contribute to the cacophony which had made it hard for them to hear.

“I thought, while watching it, and for long afterwards, whether I could forgive. Whether I can. Whether I should.” - Samantha C.

Standing outside the Snug on Friday night, someone confided it felt inappropriate to bring drinks into a room for a “step nine.” That’s one of the twelve steps outlined by Alcoholics Anonymous where you apologize to those you have wronged. I understand it’s one of the most difficult steps.

Reaction to the piece was very positive. Even when I couldn’t hear the actors (after the first show I stood outside the room) I could hear the laughter. I could see what was happening. And when the performance concluded the applause was loud and generous. But folks also said it was disturbing. I think I need to accept the fact that I write disturbing plays.

 

UPDATE: BorderLight Theater Festival presents The Right Room, a new play by David Hansen and directed by Jasmine Renee, July 16 - 19, 2025. Help support our production by dropping a donation on our GoFundMe campaign! 

The Ghost Theatre (book)

Pengo's 2023 Summer Book Club

It is common knowledge that women were not allowed to perform on stage in public during that period when Shakespeare wrote his plays. Roles such as Juliet, Viola, Rosalind, Portia, even Lady Macbeth and Cleopatra, were all (likely) first performed by adolescent boys.

However, in the early years of the 17th Century, there were acting companies composed entirely of male children. It was a thing. They played not only the women’s roles, but the men’s roles, too. Not at the Globe, however. In fact, Shakespeare was so irritated by the practice that the First Folio edition of Hamlet, printed in 1623, includes an exchange in which even a Danish prince has opinions about a theatrical convention in England that had fallen out of favor years earlier.

Act II, Scene ii: Hamlet laments the fortunes which have befallen a beloved troupe of actors who have lost patronage and must travel to make their nut. The “late innovation” Rosencrantz alludes to are the companies of boy players.

HAMLET

What players are they?

ROSENCRANTZ

Even those you were wont to take such
delight in, the tragedians of the city.

HAMLET

How chances it they travel? Their residence,
both in reputation and profit, was better both ways.

ROSENCRANTZ

I think their inhibition comes by the
means of the late innovation.

HAMLET

Do they hold the same estimation they did
when I was in the city? Are they so followed?

ROSENCRANTZ

No, indeed are they not.

HAMLET

How comes it? Do they grow rusty?

ROSENCRANTZ

Nay, their endeavor keeps in the wonted
pace. But there is, sir, an aerie of children, little
eyases, that cry out on the top of question and are
most tyrannically clapped for ’t. These are now the
fashion and so berattle the common stages (so
they call them) that many wearing rapiers are afraid
of goose quills and dare scarce come thither.

HAMLET

What, are they children? Who maintains ’em?
How are they escoted? Will they pursue the quality
no longer than they can sing? Will they not say
afterwards, if they should grow themselves to common
players (as it is most like, if their means are
no better), their writers do them wrong to make
them exclaim against their own succession?

ROSENCRANTZ

Faith, there has been much to-do on
both sides, and the nation holds it no sin to tar
them to controversy. There was for a while no
money bid for argument unless the poet and the
player went to cuffs in the question.

HAMLET 

Is ’t possible?

GUILDENSTERN

O, there has been much throwing
about of brains.

HAMLET

Do the boys carry it away?

ROSENCRANTZ

Ay, that they do, my lord—Hercules
and his load too.

Wedding feast at the house
of Sir Henry Unton
(unknown, c. 1596)

The text in italics is not present in the Second Quarto (1604) which begs the question: Why was this exchange not part of the printed text when the subject was relevant, and added long after the fad had passed? I assume (and it is only my assumption) that some cheeky, possibly embittered adult performers first improvised this bit of topical humor, and it was later added to the prompt book from which the text of the First Folio was edited.

The “Children of the Blackfriars Theatre” are the inspiration for the novel The Ghost Theatre, a novel by Mat Osman, author and former bass player for the 90s Britpop band Suede. I need to expand my repertoire of reads, because I keep getting recommended and then falling into Shakespearean pastiches. Last summer it was Bedtrick, which I enjoyed, and then there’s Hamnet which I started more than once but keep losing interest in.

I seem to have just enough knowledge of what we do and do not know about Shakespeare the man that I have little patience with anything that smells fishy. What’s great about Ghost Theatre is that the Bard is mentioned once, in passing, and only then in regards to the aforementioned whinging from Hamlet.

The courtly theater of Blackfriars is a different beast than the Globe, in that it serves an audience of greater means, and as an indoor theater can play with light and stage effects in a manner that a daylight theater cannot. And in that, it is a very interesting read, a peek into a popular entertainment that doesn’t get the wide and varied historical fiction treatment that the Globe has received.

The story also delves into the murky world of a company made entirely of “underage” actors, taken from their parents (with permission from the Queen) to perform for the entertainment of adult audiences, with all of the perils that might suggest. 

Minnesota Fringe Festival: Twenty Years On

Next week, I will have my first script bow at the BorderLight Fringe Festival in Cleveland, Ohio. I spent the first decade of the 21st Century paying attention to the fringe movement that was taking fire across the country, never imagining we would eventually have our own right here at home.

And yet, next week my play Step Nine will go up four times in the Snug at Parnell’s Pub in Playhouse Square. Better yet, it’s free. Check it out.

Red Eye Theatre, August 2003

Twenty years ago this week, however, I was in the Twin Cities for the tenth annual Minnesota Fringe Festival. This was the first time I had personally produced a show at any festival, and my learning curve was steep. 

The show was I Hate This (a play without the baby) and the things I learned there would serve me extremely well over the next decade. At that time, I started my first blog (I Hate This Blog) to record the experience.

Some lessons were hard: primarily, to plan for success and also to set your expectations very low. The home team, wherever you are producing, will have the advantage of family, friends, colleagues and a pre-existing audience. I learned to be happy with the attention I could attract, the audience I could engage.

Our (opening night) house was very, very small. It was a difficult show for me - I have never performed it without at least a few audience members who know who I am. No one laughed much, The tiny house contributed to this, I am sure, but I just couldn't tell if it was flying.

Afterwards I just sat in the dressing room a few minutes, trying to pull it together. I mean, tonight's show was one of the hardest things I have ever done, ever. The lighting guy (for the venue) came in and told me how great the show was.

I told him how I felt about the audience not laughing ever and he said, "Oh, that's just a Minnesota thing, you don't laugh at someone else's problems.” — August 2, 2003

I also learned to see as many shows as I could. There are a number of reasons for this, not least of which to glom onto the zeitgeist, to know what’s going on, not just in the festival, but in the larger world. Getting out into the festival also gives you the opportunity to meet not only the artists but the support staff, for the venue, and the festival itself.

(My brother) had some friends over for dinner, and I found myself in the position of trying to describe the differences between the style of performance in my show and (Rik Reppe's) "Staggering Toward America." I play characters, but then so does Rik ... but he's not really acting, only, well, what are we doing when we impersonate someone else and tell something from their point of view, I mean, isn't that what acting is?

On the way home from seeing Amy Salloway in "Does This Monologue Make Me Look Fat?" I was struck by all of these deep thoughts about solo performance, and not just solo perf. but spoken word perf, and not just that, but the entire stripped-of-artifice thing — as can be illustrated by the work of the Neo-Futurists.

(We) saw three of them (Neo-Futurists) do a final dress of "Drinking & Writing" at the Bryant-Lake Bowl. They do the show in a bar, the three of them drink the entire time (well, the two guys do) and talk about drinking and its effect on writing and great American writers ... or (vice) versa.

I have been struck by a number of no-frills shows at this Fringe, shows that have a great deal of honesty and heart ... Shows that really communicate something, told by people who I am actually happy to listen to. I only hope I can count myself among those people. — August 6, 2003

Nick Koesters, Denny Hansen & Me
Volunteers for "Voice-In-Head"
Minneapolis Theater Garage, 2003

Self-promotion, while an end unto itself, is also helpful in teaching you how to think about your own work. This is from the first day:

I ran into some people outside (the venue). They asked what my show was, and I said, "I Hate This" and as they looked at my card one asked, "Oh? And what do you hate?" and I said, "oh ... uh, I, ah, my wife and I had a stillborn child, and, uh, this is about that." 

"Oh," he said, kindly.

I said, "Yeah, I really gotta work on the pitch." — August 1, 2003

Then, two days later:

I approached a number of people… One said, "I've heard good things about this," and another, "what is it about?" 

And I said, "Two years ago my wife and I had a child who was stillborn and this is about the year I spent coping with it. Now, whatever you think a show like that might be like, forget it." 

Then someone asked, "Is it a good show?" and I said, "It's a great show — your friend here already heard good things about it." — August 3, 2003

Looking forward, to the BorderLight Fringe, I hope to maintain some of the perspective that I gained from festivals I have attended in other cities. The Minnesota Fringe was, even twenty years ago, quite progressive in their implementation of social media. Facebook wouldn’t even exist for another year, Twitter even later, and yet in 2003 the MN Fringe had a message board ("Vox Fringe") for anyone to leave reviews and starred ratings.

The question then, as now, is what percentage of participants on their message boards were potential audiences, or other fringe artists.

Last night the Vox Fringe board greeted us with this cry in the wilderness: "Who Do I Have To Blow To Get A Mainstream Review?" 

Ah, yes. The question of the ages. This person went on to lament the fact that all the papers have covered the same dozen shows (this is not true) and goes along with the accusation of local critics ignoring the out-of-town acts (they haven't.) 

But there is something to be said for the media concentrating on established performers and writers and up-and-coming companies which have already made waves at previous Fringes. — August 7, 2003

Finally, during the frenzy of festival activity, it is good to reflect upon what it is you are offering, and how it fits into the larger picture of the event. The following year, when I brought my show to New York, I heard someone say, “I like my fringe funny.” Not surprisingly, they were not interested in seeing a show about stillbirth.

One of the two closing night parties was last night ... I only got to chat with a few people ... one conversation was with a Fringer artist … she was torn up about a review she received in the weekly paper, and I think I said all the right things for her to put it in perspective. I mean, the show isn't for the (local weekly paper’s) readership … 

"Your show isn't hip," I said. "My show isn't hip. You know people like your show, they've told you, and that's what matters, when you come down to it." — August 10, 2003

James Rankin & Nicholas Chokan
"Step Nine"
Give Me Your Keys, 2023

Very soon, artists will descend upon downtown Cleveland for the BorderLight Fringe. The festival is still in its infancy, and I am excited and apprehensive. Will people come? What will they say? Which shows will have what we called “buzz”, and which will not? 

You might think it would be very difficult, over the course of only three days, to generate buzz, so many of us are working ahead of time to get the word out there.

And who knows? Perhaps net weekend some young artist will be taking their first step on a lifelong journey.

I wonder how long I will be producing (“I Hate This.”) — August 8, 2003

Give Me Your Keys presents "Step Nine" by David Hansen, August 3 -5, 2023 at the Snug in Parnell's Pub in Playhouse Square as part of the BorderLight Fringe Festival. Admission is free. 

Hand Clapping Games

River Bay Day Camp
That's me, second from left.
(August 1978)

The girls had secrets. This was understood. There were no girls in our house (mom wanted a girl, apparently that’s why they had me) so I remained ignorant of even the most basic facts of girlhood until I started dating one.

But as I was saying, girls had secrets. And they had mysteries. They could divine the future and probe the inner-most thoughts of their friends and others through the use of a cootie-catcher. 

They passed notes and looked at you and whispered (or in my case, they didn’t look at you and whispered) and they executed intricate hand-clapping games with bravely-recited, risqué lyrics.

Miss Suzy had a steamboat
The steamboat had a bell
Miss Suzy went to heaven
The steamboat went to …
HELLO operator
Give me number nine
If you disconnect me
I'll kick your big …
BEHIND the 'frigerator
There was a piece of glass
Miss Suzy fell upon it
And cut her big fat …
ASK me no more questions
Give me no more lies
The boys are in the restroom
zipping up their …
FLIES are in the meadow
The bees are in the park
Miss Suzy and her boyfriend
Are kissing in the D. A. R. K.
D. A. R. K. D. A. R. K.
Dark Dark Dark!!

When I was ten, the cool girls really liked to say the word “ass.” Like in that Blondie song, you know the one.

There was this oral tradition among children which goes back generations (see: Ben Is Dead) where songs like these were passed along without thought of where they came from or where they might lead. Do kids still recite "Miss Suzy" while clapping, or jumping rope?

Regardless, I am thinking of composing some verses for this thing I'm working on. I think it will be fun!

River Bay Day Camp, 1963
Cleveland Memory Project