November 17, 1988 - The Wily Ways of Waxwingsfire
'A Lie of the Mind'
'Full- Bodied Human Life'
Animates Shepard Drama
By Lee Davis
very least nibbled around the edges of his
There are, these days, several Sam
concentration.
Shepards: the cinema superstar, the film
Oh sure, "A Lie of the Mind" won the New
director, the stage director, the playwright
York Drama Critics' Award for the best
who once wrote purely and accurately and
new play of the 1985 -86 season. That's true.
scathingly for the stage alone, who boiled
But what a shabby season it was, that year.
our minds and seared our consciences and
The critics had to reach off Broadway to the
made us laugh long and deeply and
Promenade, where "Lie of the Mind" was
thoroughly at his dark vision and unremit-
playing, to find a best new play —there was
ting, uncompromising and ultimately op-
nothing uptown that qualified —and then,
timistic evaluations of the human condition,
when the producers moved "A Lie of the
I knew Sam then, back in the US when he
Mind" to Broadway, it folded in a few
was in his early 20s and already had written
weeks.
To my way of thinking, contrary to, say,
more than a hundred one -act plays. He was
"Buried Child," or "True West," or even
a single- minded fury in those days, grinding
"Chicago," this play is not theatrical, but
out the plays that would teach him his craft
cinematic Shepard, really a film on a stage.
and teach us about optimism in the teeth of
Sam directed it at the Promenade and later
cataclysm. And he was very personal in his
at the Longacre, populated it with a
writing: once he was living with an actress
blockbuster cast that included Harvey
there's a trunkful
Keitel, Amanda Plummer and Geraldine
Page, and covered the many, many scene
of symbols, and the
changes with a live country western group
called the Red Clay Ramblers. Neat, but
usual fireworks of
not nitty- gritty Shepard nor essential
,theatre, which is one of the last outposts of
confrontations, brutality,
sustained human communication.
And besides, this kind of writing raises
and madness we've all
great obstacles to any community group,
objects of sheer logistics, and ones that are
come to expect
sometimes beautifully met and sometimes
from Sam Shepard
not in Southampton. More of that later.
First, the play.
named Joyce Aarons who got a job in
It has, as would be expected of Sam
Shepard, a powerful premise. Jake (Barry
Chicago, and out of that came a play called
Jayson Moss), an apparently deranged
"Chicago," about a guy left behind by a girl
young man is so pathologically jealous of
named Joy who succeeds when he doesn't.
his actress wife Beth (Leslie Patricia Con -
Circumstances rob us of our joy, he says in
ran) that he nearly murders her in a
that one, but not forever, because at the end
domestic squabble, and indeed leaves her
of the play he realizes that, in his sorrow
hopelessly brain damaged. She's brought
and his anger, he's forgotten the most fun-
home to recuperate by her parents and
damental fact of living: he's forgotten how
brother, while Jake is put to bed in his
to breathe.
In those days of the playhouse in the base-
boyhood room by his overprotective
mother. Both Jake and his brother even -
ment of the Judson Church, we all
tually end up in Montana, at Beth's parents'
wondered if Sam would make it into his 30s.
home, and Jake and Beth effect a reconcila-
He was living his life as if he were a '60s
tion of sorts.
Thomas Wolfe, and we all know what hap-
Along the way, there's a trunkful of sym-
pened to Thomas Wolfe.
bola, and the usual fireworks of confronta-
But of course Sam did, and his genius
tions, brutality, and madness we've all
hasn't dimmed all that much from being out
come to expect from Sam Shepard. And, as
in the California sun, maybe because he
we've also come to expect, there's a lot of
was used to it, having grown up in Texas,
tenderness, at unexpected moments. And
But it has fragmented itself, and seeing "A
eventual optimism. With some of his sym-
Lie of the Mind," currently being given a
bols (fire burning in the snow, for instance,)
good, honest, and at times shattering pro-
and some of his characters and some of his
duction by the combination college and
moments, he seems to be saying, I think,
community Southampton Players in the
that love can occur in the most unlikely of
Fine Arts Theatre at LIU'S Southampton
places, a n d ca n res i de in th e strangest of
Campus, I have to wonder if all that
containers
Tinseltown and all those demands on Sam's
For, there's really only one character in
time and his mind and his body have at the
(Continued on Page B6)
leaciFURNTURE
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The Southampton Press
Working outside, behind his Little Fresh Pond home, Jim Gray is creating a whale for Sag Harbor. — Alberto Muschette Photo
A Love of Life Revealed in Carving
By Lee Davis
It all boils down to this: Jim Gray loves
life.
Now, somebody lesser might carve that in
a tree, where it would become a public cliche.
Mr. Grey, on the other hand, would probably
carve the tree itself, whittle away, what he
calls the "residue around what's in there,"
and make this statement by releasing from
its imprisonment in the tree a person or an
animal that is astonishingly detailed and life-
like but which also travels both beyond and
beneath the usual, into the image within the
image.
"I look, and I see something in the wood,"
he says, in his home on the Golden Pond that
is actually Little Fresh Pond. Sitting back
comfortably in a chair that has supported
him probably more thoroughly, if not more
satisfyingly than his sculpting of imagg„s
from wood has, he is a man whose face is
more than a map of his life; it's an entire ga-
zetteer. Beyond this, there's an easy preci-
sion about him, about his words and the
ordering of them, about his life and the way
he's finally ordered it.
And what a life it has been: It would take
less space to say what he hasn't done than
what he has, but the trip through space would
be as exciting as an action novel.
Now, it centers around, but isn't circum-
scribed b his high-class whittling.
In De-
cember, one of these emergent creations will
hopefully become very public, in Sag Har-
bor. If all goes well, Jim Gray's six-foot carv-
ing of a sperm whale will take up residence
over the entrance to that village's munici-
pal building, reminding residents of their sea-
going heritage.
The last whaling vessel left Sag Harbor
in 1926, the year I was born," says Jim Gray,
semi- seriously, "so I feel I'm obligated to
compensate for the loss of that last whaling
vessel."
That's only a shaving of the story, part of
the residue, for, as we stated a moment ago,
Jim Gray has had a life that amounts to at
least ten normal ones.
Consider this: In 1943, when he was 16
years old, he left school and his family dairy
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farm in Michigan, lied about his age, and en-
listed in the Army. World War II was at its
crucial midpoint then, and strong farmboys
were needed.
He joined the 101st Airborne —("He was a
highly decorated paratrooper," states his
wife, Jeanne, proudly.
"Please—" he interjects, with the kind of
self- effacement that spurs her on to fill in the
heroic spaces through which he speeds.)
As part of the 101st Airborne, nicknamed
the "Battling Bastards of Bastorl he par-
ticipated in 35 missions. The first drop after
D -Day, he landed on a rock and broke his
ankle. Shrugging off medical help, he fought
his way with his unit —the last part of the
journey with a rifle taken from a German
soldier —all the way to Paris before finally
having the ankle set.
That's the kind of understated, determined
person he is, .. sitting today at the rim of
',"light as well '
ham the hest"
oWOTMI/
Golden Pond and remaining silent about this
sort of heroism, maybe because it was only
the beginning. His commanding officer in the
101st, it turned out, was Jim Monroe, former
and later public safety director of the Cleve-
land Police Force, a title he inherited from
the man under whom he had served before
the war, Elliot Ness.
That's right. The Elliot Ness, whom Jim
Gray met, since he went from the 101st di-
rectly into the Cleveland Police Force, where
he eventually headed up a SWAT team titled
Halloran's Raiders.
"We used to go in on motorcycles," he
grudgingly and finally admits. "It was a Sur-
prise. And it worked."
Now, loosened a little, he recalls Ness,
whom "everyone called Mr. Ness, even his
wife," he says. "He was a pale man. He al-
ways packed a couple of six- shooters. And it
( -Coul inued QmTllge.136)
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Focus on Nature
The Wily Ways
Of Waxwings
By Paul Stoutenburgh
The other day Barbara came back from a
walk to the beach all excited about seeing a
flock of cedar waxwings feeding in a group
of cedars along the roadside. The cedar wax-
wing is a bird we don't see too often here on
the East End though it is common through-
out most of the state. It is one of our latest
nesters for it enjoys berries and therefore
waits until they become ripe to raise and feed
its young. It's probably one of the trimmest
birds you'll ever see.
Cedar waxwings look to me as if they were
just freshly painted with a sharp crest on the
head and brush of yellow across the tail. The
body, half the size of a robin's, is an overall
brownish color with pale creamy- yellow
underparts. Once you see this handsome
berry -eater you'll never forget it. As men-
tioned above, they are noted for enjoying any
sort of fruit they can get down their throat.
The grey -blue cedar berries were what they
were after when Barbara saw them.
The next day they were close to the house
and again Barbara's sharp eyes and keen
hearing found them in a vacant overgrown
lot just off the pasture. Seems about 20 years
ago a man started to build a house there. He
had the foundation done and while someone
was backfilling, it caved in. Evidently he was
disgusted and rather than reconstruct he
merely bulldozed the whole thing in and cov-
ered it over. Today the lot has been over-
taken by wild blackberry, catbrier,
multiflora rose and a host of weedy shrubs
that attract a wide variety of wildlife. It
didn't take the waxwings long to find out that
here was lunch and plenty of it. I counted
more than 50 in this one location and know
there must have been many more up the
road, for I could see them flying back and
forth in the trees.
It was fascinating to see them feeding.
Sometimes they'd be completely upside down
reaching for a berry way out on the very end
of the stem. Some would beat their wings like
giant hummingbirds and literally stand in
midair trying to grasp a glistening berry.
Nearby were migrating robins who wanted
to get their share of the berries before they
were all gone. Being much bigger birds, the
robins had to stay back where the branches
were heavier while the waxwings performed
a wide array of balancing acts out on the
springy stems where the remaining berries
were.
Both these birds, like many others, rely on
a well stocked oasis like this one on their way
south. It's like going on a long car trip and
stopping for lunch along the way. Without
these refueling stops, migrating birds would
have a tough time, proof that overgrown lots
(Continued on Page B7)
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PAGE B1
THE SOUTHAMPTON PRESS /NOVEMBER 17, 1988