Author Gerald Everett Jones is sometimes, but not often, mistaken for movie director Martin Scorsese.
While I was on a business trip a few years ago, I was walking down the hallway of my hotel, and two young people passed by me. Moments later I heard a voice behind me as one said to the other, “That’s Martin Scorsese, you know.”
It doesn’t happen often. Of course, perhaps the people who are gaping at me across the room at a crowded restaurant might think they’ve spotted Marty – or there might literally be egg on my face.
This was not the first time I’d been recognized in public by a stranger, whether for being myself or some (other) celebrity. I was surprised and flattered the other day when after introducing myself to a young woman on a business matter and handing her my card, she replied, “I’ve heard of you.”
I was afraid to ask her how!
I once spotted novelist Paul Auster having breakfast at a nearby table at a coffee shop in Brooklyn. I knew he lived in the neighborhood. I regret I didn’t have the nerve to walk over there and tell him how much I admire his work.
Gerald played the title role (Christy Mahon) in a summer-stock production of John M. Synge’s play, Playboy of the Western World.
But the most sensational of these experiences happened decades ago, and I fear it might never be surpassed. When I was the callow age of twenty and thinking someday I’d be a professional actor, I played Christy Mahon, the lead role in J. M. Synge’s play, The Playboy of the Western World. (I should explain that playboy in the jargon of the period apparently meant something like trickster – nothing like the implication it would eventually have for Hugh Hefner or James Bond.)
I undertook this challenge – a large role for a green actor – during a summer-stock internship at the Town Meeting Playhouse in Jeffersonville, Vermont. Our acting company took on nine roles in ten weeks, performing four shows each weekend, including a matinee as well as an evening show on Saturdays. The schedule was so hectic and compressed that we’d start rehearsals and blocking of the next show every Friday, the day of the current show’s opening night.
During those four performances of Playboy, I forgot my lines a couple of times, but the generous cast helped me ad lib to cover. The applause was enthusiastic, I was told later by the director, and Vermonters are not known for public displays of affection of any kind.
The closest big town to Jeffersonville is Burlington. One afternoon following the closing of Playboy, several of us cast members took a road trip into town. It was a rare day out. And one of the highlights of our spree was stopping in a bookstore.
While I was browsing there, a teenage girl pointed eagerly at me and exclaimed, “Oh, my God! It’s the Playboy of the Western World!”
Gerald Everett Jones is the author of the new novel, Harry Harambee’s Kenyan Sundowner, which will be released on June 29.
