The long- and well-remembered Edward Duke would have been 72 today, and happy heavenly birthday, dear one.
This date is always marked on my wall calendar (yes, wall calendar), along with a couple of other related anniversaries. (I don't take wedding anniversaries, Valentine's Day, Mother's Day, or other commonly claimed self-celebrations, so I'll commemorate my own ridiculous fondness for a goofy twit.)
As it happens, I also received today the summer edition of the quarterly Plum Lines journal of The Wodehouse Society, in which I've previously made a few remarks related to Edward. The administrators of said organization remind me my membership has expired and I owe them money. The thing is, they don't want money in the format I have previously used, a check (or cheque). They want something in the way of a digital payment.
As my checks (or cheques) are no longer legal tender, it reminds me of how much has changed since Edward tap-danced off this planet in 1994. Computers were just becoming personal and had yet to reach their current status as the means of all communications, commercial, personal, comical, or devious.
Which leads me to the question, how in the world did I find an address for sending my fan letters to Edward? Without an Internet, we had to rely on available reference librarians, industry directories, professional connections included in printed programs saved from theaters.
Somehow, I figured out that Edward must have belonged to some professional union, such as Screen Actors Guild. (Did I know then that he'd appeared in a few movies already, such as The French Lieutenant's Woman and Invitation to the Wedding? I don't remember. }
I did at last reach some organization and asked in my most professional-sounding big-girl voice to be connected with the membership department. Once connected, I suggested there was some slight urgency for my need to obtain a mailing address for one of their members. The individual receiving my request obliged very politely, perhaps even asking if there were anything else she could do for me. As there was not, I thanked her.
I should note that this trick did not work ever again, but I had an address, even if I misheard the information and wrote to the wrong street in London. I didn't learn this until at least a year later when I received my treasured autographed publicity photo of Edward in his Jeeves and Wooster costumes.
My memories of Jeeves Takes Charge are dimming, though I saw Edward perform it at least four times. My pictures (Yes, pictures) of him are on the bookshelf (Yes, bookshelf) next to the piano (digital keyboard) I am attempting to learn to play, and he watches over me, perhaps encouraging me. And I remember his awful Act III tap dance whilst singing "Look For the Silver Lining."
Love, hosaa
silver-lininging
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| Edward Duke, Jeeves Takes Charge. Photo by Martha Swope (Billy Rose Theatre Division, New York Public Library Digital Collections, 1983) |
