The famous man

I had hoped to visit my cartoonist friend Justin Green in Cincinatti. But when I talked to him yesterday, he begged off. He has money problems, health problems(with no health insurance), and some crushing deadlines to meet. He also has many regrets. "I got great reviews; I got letters from famous people saying they love my work. But you can't bank it. I would rather be an artisan and have a comfortable life. And I tried that; I became a sign painter. But then the computer came along and destroyed that. So now I've cast my lot with cartooning." And he has work. But it doesn't add up to much money. I told him, "I can sum up the artist's personality in two phrases: manic-depression and inappropriate response to reality." Justin's wife, Carol Tyler, is also a cartoonist.

Last train to Narberth

On my last day with Peter Pan, I went to Easter service with my mother. We left early (right after Communion) and my mother drove me to Wynnewood station to catch the 12:01. I got to the theater at 12:30 and met Stephen Purdy, my replacement, in the pit. I showed him how to boot up the equipment and we talked through the book. Then I played the last show, talking to him all the while. Ten minutes after the show ended, I ran out of the theater to catch the 4:45.

I hugged Anne goodbye and said, "I'm off."
"I could see that from Day One."

As I was walking out, she said, "We'll be seeing you again, no doubt."
"No doubt," I replied tiredly.

Anne said to the other Anne, "Notice how excited he is."

Cartoon world

Above a doorway on Walnut Street.

Surreal scene

Kids and their parents waiting outside the Academy of Music to see Peter Pan. Note the banner for the Dali show (which I never saw. I waited too long to order a ticket).

Eugene H. Stivers 1921-2004

At my father's memorial with my high school friends Tim (Chris), Richard, and Emily. Emily said I couldn't take this picture unless I promised to put it on the blog.

Another thing I don't recommend

When I used an ATM recently, I found someone else's card in the machine. I decided to keep the card and try to locate the owner. But I forgot all about it until Thursday night's performance. During the second intermission, I called information and got the phone number of a person with the same name as the one on the card. It turned out not to be the right guy, and as I was talking to him, Jennifer (who was sitting in the pit that night) said, "His hands are up!" Meaning the conductor. I quickly closed the phone and dropped my hands on the first chord of Act 3.

Pen and pencil set

This is the coat rack at the Pen and Pencil Club, the oldest press club in the country. It is for members only. After opening night, I went there with Bruce Schimmel, an old friend (and founder of the Philadelphia City Paper) who was the first editor to publish my cartoons. He just waved at the security monitor and they let him in.

Economy car wash

My rental car originally smelled as if a raccoon had smoked a pack of Camels before dying. I decided to air it out by leaving the windows open overnight. I woke the next morning to rain; I found little ponds collecting in the inside door handles. I brought out towels to dry it; after I got over my anxiety, I realized that the bad smell was gone. So I don't recommend this method, but it works.

A brief affair

It was a gorgeous spring day, and I fell in love with Philadelphia all over again. (We broke up the next day, when it was cold and rainy.)

My final resting place

Here I am sitting at Keyboard 3. I'm behind everyone else and the only musician under the stage. I'm further from the conductor than I've been before. I do, however, have an incredible view of all three balconies and the chandelier.

Music of the night

The Academy is like the European opera houses that inspired Phantom of the Opera. It's got the chandelier and the golden nudes holding up the ceiling.

Jack Benny come back to life

When I reminded Bruce that this was my last week, he said, "My God. We'll have to have a party, or a wake, or something." I said, "Sure. If you get a casket I'd be happy to lie down in it." "That's the best offer I've had all day."

Master of our domain

The basement of the Academy of Music has a hallways full of signed and framed celebrity photos. I saw Pavarotti, Peter Nero, Harry Connick Jr., and this one of Jerry Seinfeld.

Harp sister

Anne Sullivan our harpist in Philadelphia. As I always do, I asked her if she knew Mary Jane D'Arville of the Virginia Harp Center.

She sure does. Anne grew up in Havertown, right next to Lower Merion where Mary Jane and I lived and went to school. Beyond that, they went to harp camp in Maine together and became like sisters. "Tell Mary Jane I have another lobster story."

I remembered seeing Ellen de Pasquale (of the famous Philadelphia de Pasquales) playing with the Cleveland Orchestra. Charlie de Pasquale was in my class at Lower Merion and I asked Anne if she knew Ellen and whether she had gone to Lower Merion. "I know Ellen," said Anne. "I taught her at Curtis."

Anne is a killer harpist. (Or as they say in Boston, kill-ah.)