Remembering November 22, 1963

By Judy W. Staber

I was on tour with "A Man For All Seasons," for six months – 33,000 miles in a Bus and Truck Company. First Assistant Stage Manager – Stage Right. The memories of some of the towns we visited are lost in the mists of time, but some still stand out more than fifty years later, many because of production mishaps or, sometimes, when the outside world burst in.

On November 22, we had stopped for lunch at a roadside café in a tiny dot on the map called Medicine Bow, Wyoming. We had played the University of Wyoming in Laramie the night before and our next stop was Casper, some two hundred miles away. Our bus driver Willie had taken the back roads – a more direct route but decidedly slower and bumpier — and Medicine Bow was the only possible place for lunch.

We all piled out of the bus to stretch our legs, have a smoke and peruse the menu pasted in the café window. Not much on offer – grilled cheese, hamburgers or tuna on white. But we were used to such fare by now. Most of our Company squeezed into the tiny café. The man behind the counter and two other customers were transfixed watching a tiny television set hung on the wall. He raised his hand to silence us.

“What’s the matter?” someone asked.

“Kennedy’s been shot.”

Without a sound, we turned as one and watched Walter Cronkite as he removed his black-rimmed spectacles, wiped his eyes and said,

“It has been confirmed that President John F. Kennedy died at 1 p.m. central standard time.”

There were gasps, someone sobbed.

We somberly left the restaurant and got back on the bus. No one said anything. We drove on to the Henning Hotel in Casper and, after checking in, we clustered around the television set in the lobby. (No televisions in the rooms in those days).

We wondered aloud if they would cancel the show. They didn’t. The reason was, according to Herb, that this was our only stop in Casper and people had paid to see us. Also, it was well known that Victor Samrock, our producer back in New York, was ever mindful of money and not even a dead president was going to stop the cash flow. Theatres across America were dark that night, but not Victor Samrock’s productions.

As it turned out only eleven people came; I could count the house through a crack in the curtain. We paused for two minutes of silence before the play began. Dick O’Neill said, “Well, at least we aren’t doing Jean Kerr’s Mary Mary.”

No. Our play was more fitting, about another Catholic martyr.

We had many adventures on our journey across America. Our acting company was a mixed bunch with some fine actors and some journeymen. There were only five women in this company of twenty-four. Three of the women, Lois Kibbee, Vanya Frank and Amelia Romano, had parts in the play, I understudied Vanya and Amelia and Amelia understudied Lois. Laurette was the wardrobe mistress. I never did figure out when she did the laundry, she barely had time to iron everything. Of the men, four were IATSE crew, three were stage management — Leon and Roger understudied too, the others were actors.

It was an inspiring play and we were seeing America in a way that few people do. Standing in the wings every night, waiting for the curtain to rise, and watching the play unfold through the dust motes dancing in the stage lights, I was never bored.

Judy Staber is a writer and former actor who lives in Old Chatham, New York. She is the former director of The Spencertown Academy and founder of the Pantoloons. In retirement, she is writing and aging in place in her home of 31 years. This excerpt is taken from her new book Rise Above It, Darling.