Edward, Silver-Lining It

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."

And I do.

Love, hosaa
silver-lininging

Edward Duke, Jeeves Takes Charge. Photo by Martha Swope
(Billy Rose Theatre Division,
New York Public Library Digital Collections, 1983)

Haiku Redux (for Edward Duke)

 This bit was from 10 years ago, but it summarized Edward Duke and his  show, "Jeeves Takes Charge":

Edward Duke

June 17, 1953 - January 8, 1994

Slow tap-dance, quick change,

a heart full of joy.

His limited engagement.

Martha Swope, photographer; Billy Rose Theatre Division, New York Public Library Digital Collections, 1983.

Arise, Jeeves!

Normally I’d only reminisce about Edward Duke on the anniversary of his birth (June 17), but ‘tis the season of my “Jeeves” reflections, ignited this year by the spectacularly long-overdue revival of Edward’s Jeeves Takes Charge stage frolic. 

At the time I saw it, JTC was billed as a “one-man, two-act, 12-character, award-winning comedy tour de force.” Now, the new adaptation lists 22 characters, managed nimbly (I imagine) by Australian heartthrob Sam Harrison in three sold-out performances, February 11–12, at London’s Theatre at the Tabard, Chiswick.

Sam Harrison

It is thanks to the P.G. Wodehouse Society of U.K. (and X/Twitter knowing all about my interests) that I discovered this revival. Following all the rabbit holes of social media, I also discovered that Edward’s   IMDb page had been (lovingly, respectfully, and I assume accurately) updated. 

The biggest treat of all was discovering the archive of original publicity photography for Edward’s “cheap little show” when it landed at New York’s Roundabout Theatre in 1983. 

Only a sample here; credit to Martha Swope, photographer; Billy Rose Theatre Division, New York Public Library Digital Collections, 1983.

Edward Duke as Bertie Wooster

    

Edward Duke as Jeeves

Edward Duke, Author

For Edward Duke (1953-1994)

Edward Duke as Bertie Wooster, 'Jeeves Takes Charge'

Thank you for the gift of authoring a very unexpected chapter in my life.

Love, hosaa
remembering joy

As Read by Edward Duke

Happy Birthday to Edward Duke, who would have been 59 today. Your voice will live on in my heart and continue telling me stories.

As luck would have it, copies of the long-out-of-business Buckingham Classics "Jeeves Takes Charge" audiobook are still available on the resale market.

And a special treat for all Edward Duke fans, a Hosaa's Blog exclusive excerpt:

For love alone,
hosaa

The Voice of a Master Twit

For my fellow Edward Duke fans, I've been trying to locate digital versions of the audiobooks he recorded for Buckingham Classics, which no longer seems to exist.

Best we can do commercially is the audiocassette compilation All About Jeeves, which repackaged Edward's two original Buckingham cassettes.

The stories are:

"Jeeves Takes Charge" and "Bertie Changes His Mind," which were Acts I and II, respectively, of Edward's stage production, plus "The Chump Cyril" and "Jeeves and the Hard-Boiled Egg," originally packaged as "Jeeves Comes to America."

(Incidentally, Act III of the Jeeves Takes Charge stage production--"Wooster in Wonderland"--was Edward's invention, pulling together all of the best characters and plot devices of the Wodehouse universe--including aunts, country fairs, newts, fiances, and the world's worst tap dance, performed by Bertie while singing "Look for the Silver Lining.")

Sadly, I had ordered my copy of "Jeeves Comes to America" right about the same time dear Edward died, in 1994. It was recorded in 1993, and I fear he was likely quite ill at the time. I tried only once to listen to this recording and just couldn't get through it. My heart couldn't bear it. It's about time I tried again, now, isn't it!

There is one more piece of Edward Duke audio in my collection (also on tape. It was a sad decade, the technologically transitional 1990s). It is the interview that he conducted with WETA TV and radio personality Robert Aubry Davis, for his show Desert Island Discs. I had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Davis in Edward's dressing room--and the audacity to ask for a copy of the interview.

I'll see what I can do about converting some of these tapes into digital audio, and will try to share as much as I can within the limits of fair use. I miss Edward's laugh, his wit, his mastery of the art of the twit.

Love, hosaa

looking for the silver lining (and tap dancing, very badly indeed)

Carpetbagger's Triptych

Back from The Carpetbagger's Children at Ford's Theatre, a Texas based 1930s memory piece by Horton Foote.

Ford's brings back special memories for me and an anniversary of sorts (though not the day exactly). It was a bright, crisp Sunday afternoon in a February far far away that brought me the bright, crisp off-key dancing and braying laugh of Edward Duke in Jeeves Takes Charge, the "one-man, two-act, 12-character, award-winning comedy tour de force," if he does say so himself.

So sitting in the balcony before the beginning of a play I knew nothing about, I was re-imagining my Edward and his many voices and faces, merry costumes and clever scene changes and all, enchanting me for a couple of hours and embodying the storytelling genius of Wodehouse.

So why did the format of Carpetbagger make me so impatient? The scene was static, with three actresses portraying sisters, each in her own panel of the triptych of a Texas cotton farm homestead, each taking a turn telling the story of their family to the audience but almost never interacting with each other. Yet each took on the voice and personality of the characters whose stories they were telling.

Storytelling with impersonations is exactly what Edward did for Jeeves; it is not a particularly original format. But with the Carpetbagger's girls, I was having a few of those "Why are you telling me all this?" moments and shifting in my seat a bit waiting for the plot to begin.

When I relaxed into the format a bit (thanks for reminding me, Edward), I let the power of the personalities on stage persuade me their story was worth the telling, even if I didn't get it at first.

One sister was constantly pressed to sing "The Clanging Bell of Time," or whatever the dashed name of the song was, which became an anthem for the passage of the family members' lives.

And, like Charming Billy over at Round House, the play seemed to say we are surrounded by our memories as we live through them, even if we cannot directly interact with the actors in our dramas.

love, hosaa
Story listening

Edward Duke

June 17, 1953 - January 8, 1994

Happy Birthday to Edward Duke, who would have been 56.

Loved. Still.

love, hosaa
looking for the silver lining

Private Lives

Apropos of Clay Aiken's recent revelations, I am reminded of a story.

Once upon a time, I treated a friend to a Sunday matinee performance of a one-man play, an adaptation of P.G. Wodehouse stories called Jeeves Takes Charge, at Ford's Theatre in Washington, D.C. I believe it was the last performance of the run.

As I settled into the second-to-last row of the balcony, I looked through the program to see who this guy is, Edward Duke. The bio indicated that he was about my brother's age. I looked at his picture. That is, I gazed, sort of dumb-struck, at his picture. Goggly-eyed, don't you know.

Only one word popped into my head as the lights dimmed. "Perfect." I was in love before he even set foot on the stage.

"Jeeves Takes Charge" program insert:

program page:

program page:

program page:

program page:

The show was promoted as a one-man, two-act, 12-character, award-winning comedy tour-de-force. How this actor could embody all of these characters was beyond comprehension, but his delivery of Wodehouse's words was a revelation. It was the characters and the words that I grew to love after the show was over.

As Jeeves, the brainy cove who eats fish ("from the collar upward, he stands alone") Edward must have been brainy himself, I reasoned. As Bertie, the fat-headed goof, always getting himself unfortunately engaged and wearing inappropriate socks, he was just plain adorable.

But back in the olden days, the 1980s, there was no Internet to help in chasing after an idol. Frankly, I don't know how I ever got tidbits about where he was or what he was doing. So I ended up concentrating mainly on P.G. Wodehouse and reading all of the Jeeves stories I could get my hands on.

When that was done, my mind kept turning to the man who embodied all the best of Bertie Wooster and his man Jeeves. I wrote short skits and scenarios of the characters, taking them to places of my own romantic invention.

And when I was done with that, I still needed to connect with the source of these inspirations: Edward Duke. In my most professional big-girl voice, I called a professional theater guild (it might have been Actor's Equity, but I don't remember now. Perhaps Screen Actor's Guild) and asked for the membership department. I asked for the mailing address of one of their members, Edward Duke, and received the information with professional courtesy. (I later learned that whoever gave me that information probably should have been fired. I tried asking the same question again another time and was rebuffed when I confessed I was not a member myself.)

So with an address to write to, I wrote my fan letters to Edward. I wrote about how he inspired me and how talented he was and all that. I don't know how many letters I wrote - enough to run out of topics, I'm sure! It was a little like writing to Santa Claus - since I didn't think he was really receiving the letters, I could say pretty much what I wanted. But after a year and a half, I gave up. It was rather silly, I knew.

But then, out of nowhere, I received this in the mail:

autographed publicity pic:

A simple autographed photo. My prized possession! I showed it to everyone I knew and laughed when they all asked me, "Which one is Edward Duke?" He's both, of course, My hero, my ideal man, with Jeeves's brains and Bertie's heart.

It was staggering to realize he must have actually read my fan letters - or some of them, anyway.

After I got his autographed picture, I was so thrilled and inspired, I wrote a novel "based" on what I thought he might be like (a romantic, wise, handsome hero, of course). I actually sent him the novel, and a year later, when he came back to D.C. in another show, he called me at work and invited me to attend that evening's performance as his guest!

I had heard from a friend that he was touring in a musical based on the strained relationship between Gilbert and Sullivan; Edward played the chowder-headed Alfred, son of Queen Victoria, who was enchanted by the theatre. His character gets to have a walk-on role in "The Mikado" and carries around an enormous bamboo parasol.

Sullivan and Gilbert handbill:

"Backstage, what? How very ... theatrical!"

After the show, I was to go backstage and meet Edward! Can you imagine how through-the-roof I was? In a daze, I wandered through the downstairs abyss that is the Opera House {correction: it was the Eisenhower. ~h} backstage at Kennedy Center, staggered through the dressing room areas, then saw my Edward, sitting on a bench and putting on his shoe.

Beside him were two young fan-boy boyfriends (stereotypically gay enough even to tip me off). Edward was gracious but flamboyant. Okay, I had to change my mind about who I thought he was! But I never stopped loving him.

After the run of Sullivan and Gilbert ended, Edward stayed on in D.C. to reprise Jeeves. ("My cheap little show," as he called it.) I met him in his dressing room each time I went - three or four times during that run. He gave me the window poster for Jeeves' limited engagement at Ford that year. He also gave me a publicity photo of himself taken at the age of 18. (Sorry, no scan of that. Personal treasure.)

At one point, he complained to me bitterly about the staid Washington audiences. "You have to jump through hoops for a standing ovation!" I then sent him this little doodle to cheer him up:

My cartoon for Edward:

After these encounters, and meeting him with yet another of his fan-boyfriends, I felt that I knew who Edward Duke really was, and loved him even more. I was inspired to write another play, this one about an actor dying of AIDS and the fan who loved and cared for him. I sent that to him too.

When I went to see him again a few years later, in another play (Private Lives, ironically, with Joan Collins), he gave me the biggest, warmest, lovingest hug. Then he said, "You wrote a play ... about me!!!" Since my hero dies of AIDS, I said, "I hope not!"

Edward Duke and Joan Collins, Private Lives:

I had sent him flowers backstage, and chocolates (which he gave to Joan, "she's mad about chocolate"), and he said I was the only one who remembered him. He seemed sad, or just tired. Then he invited me to hang out in his dressing room for the Saturday matinee, which I did. And after that show, I got to walk out of the stage door of the National Theatre (the same one Clay Aiken exited earlier this year after performing the song "Sarah" at the gala for Ford's), and was at his side when other fans begged for his autograph.... I felt so special to be his lady friend!

National Theatre backstage, Edward Duke dressing as "Victor" in Private Lives:

National Theatre, Edward Duke with fans:

Two years later, a friend called to tell me she just read his obituary in the New York Times. He'd died of AIDS at the age of 40. I never stopped loving him. He inspired me, and he genuinely seemed to love having me for a fan.

Edward Duke, February 1992:

This is how I respond to Clay Aiken's soul-baring experience. People need to get over the idea that only romantic love counts. Love is like water - it finds its own level and its own journey. My romantic fantasies, of course, will change. But my love for Edward, for Clay, and for anyone else who wiggles his way into my life for the better - that won't ever change. Not from this. Not even close.

Private Lives? Privacy? We wonder what those things are anymore. It was instructive for me to learn about my heroes' private lives; it allowed me to understand more about them. It makes me sad that Clay had to provide a glimpse of his private life in order for the rest of the world to achieve this understanding.

love, hosaa,
Not hero-worshipping. Hero-loving.