Edward and Joan

In honor of Edward Duke's 67th birthday, I post this pic from his work with his much-adored Joan Collins in Private Lives.

This was scanned from the program during their stay at Washington, D.C.'s National Theatre. To welcome Edward to town during this run, I'd sent him flowers and chocolates, along with a note letting him know what day I had a ticket for (a not-very-subtle hint that I'd probably try to sneak backstage and see him after the show).

And I did sneak around the backstage area to check in with the security guard and ask if it would be possible to visit Edward in his dressing room. I gained admittance and directions to the stairs (or elevator--I don't remember) to the second-floor dressing rooms. As I navigated the corridor full of various dressing room doors, Edward began calling out to me! The security guard had no doubt alerted him to my impending arrival.

He met me at his door and gave me the biggest, dearest, warmest hug, I think, I'd ever had. But I'm just a fan! A fan who wrote fan letters regularly and hopefully, as though I were writing to Santa Claus.

He mentioned the play I'd written and sent to him--a play he inspired, but at the time I didn't know how closely I'd hit the mark. "You've written a PLAY!" he gushed. "A play about ME!!" I replied as quietly as possible, "I hope not." The play, you see, was about an actor who dies of AIDS.

We chatted as old friends, though really we weren't. I found out he knew Joan personally, not just professionally (she'd recommended him for the part of "Victor," the new husband her character abandons). He even vacationed with her to the Côte d'Azur (French Riviera), yet Edward was a bit intimidated by Joan. He hushed me whenever her name come up, indicating the porous nature of the dressing room walls. And he told me he'd given my chocolates to her: "She's mad about chocolates!"

Edward died in 1994, two years after my last encounter with him in Private Lives. Joan included him in one of her memoirs, possibly Second Act, published in 1997. I didn't buy the book, unfortunately, but remember browsing the passages about Edward's illness (which was ongoing at the time of his tour with her). Somewhere she wrote the words "Only the best."* I'm not sure if she meant this as a description of Edward Duke or simply a motto in life. But it does capture my feelings about the actor and the man.

Only the best and for love alone,
hosaa

ETA - *possibly it was Una-Mary Parker who ascribed this characterization to Edward. I was aware of their friendship and mutual support. It was Una-Mary who designed Edward's costumes for Jeeves Takes Charge and it was Una-Mary who contacted me after Edward's death (he had used her address in London as his official point of contact). She told me she knew my name very well, so it's likely she as well as Edward read my "Santa Claus" letters.

I also think it likely Una-Mary was the one who autographed Edward's photo for me; her handwriting matched. In her letter, she said that Edward had asked her to add "Duke" to her name; other than in her letter to me, I see no evidence that she did so. She also told me that my play "about Edward" was about her as well--the fan who took care of the dying actor. Only now, browsing online, have I learned she died a year ago.

RIP dear sister fan, reunited with a beloved force! Give him a hug from me. xo xo

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.