Character Sketch of Everett Montague (Albert Mooney)

He is the central character in the play, All My Passions, by Vin Moreale, Jr.

Albert Mooney was born into this world on Christmas Eve 1939, in St. Louis Missouri, into a family of hardscrabble Irish.  His father was Patrick Mooney, his mother was Maddie.  She was Patrick's sixth wife and was brought in to take care of Patrick’s already large family of six kids, Albert being the seventh.

Albert grew up in a crowded household and a father who was absent most of the time.  Maddie did not remain with him very long for many reasons, infidelity being one of the most egregious.  That and the sheer work of keeping up with all those kids was too much for her.   Patrick went on to father 6 more children, with several more wives. 

Albert left the house when he was 16, not even finishing William Cullen McBride High School.  He got on with a carnival that was performing in a vacant lot in St. Louis.  He was immediately given the job of a barker, enticing people to throw a baseball and knock down the three milk bottles. 

This may sound simple enough and Albert used it as an opportunity to use his skill of casting a sort of spell on people with his patter.  Furthermore, responding to people, overcoming their reluctance to participate, was a classroom for him in the art of persuasion.

It wasn’t long before he was recognized for his intelligence and ability to learn things quickly.  He was promoted to advance man and scouted the next location for the show.   

Advance work is everything that needs to be done to prepare for the show's arrival in a town.   The Advance man is he who handles details such as licenses and sponsors before a carnival arrives in town, and sometimes handles bribes to local officials for leaving the carnival alone.   All this and he was barely twenty years old.

A producer for a burlesque house spotted him on the job and was impressed with his abilities. Albert was approached by him and persuaded to join an act with a vacancy at the Garrick Theater in St. Louis. 

 Albert had found his milieu, melodrama.  He’d moved on to Los Angeles and found his way into motion pictures, usually B movies of an hour and a few minutes.  Always playing the lothario, he developed a following of young, lonely women.

It wasn’t long before he was asked to audition for a new form of television, the weekly soap opera.  Melodramatic plots using the same characters week after week, grinding out shows.  He was in his place now and caught on as Everett Montague, the star of All My Passions, a sleazy soap sponsored by Abbott Laundry Products, where he shone as the star.

The plots were trite, usually involving a good-looking maid who was chased and seduced by the star.  His character was devoid of morals and ethics but only to a certain level of depravity.  Never stepping over the line of 50’s TV censorship.  The Code of Practices for Television Broadcasters prohibited the use of profanity, the negative portrayal of family life, irreverence for God and religion, illicit sex, drunkenness and biochemical addiction, presentation of cruelty, detailed techniques of crime, the use of horror for its own sake, and the negative portrayal of law enforcement officials, among others.  Suggestion, however, was allowed and All My Passions used it to the fullest.

Along the way Albert Mooney became his character, Everett Montague.  He even changed his name and took on the persona as his off-screen self.  Although he never became super-rich, he did achieve a certain affluence.  His private life resembled that of his character in that he had seven wives and was always “on the make” with starlets.  He was a mile wide and an inch deep.

There was a love in his life a long time ago, nearly 50 years prior.  He made the choice to follow a career instead of settling down with one woman.  It could have been the example set by his father, his ego, or the need to chase his fading youth.  It would be difficult to separate these, and all of them probably factored in to make the colorful character that he is.  At any rate, his star is fading, and the host of his show is wondering just how much longer this will be allowed to go on.

Good Advice (saw it on FB)

 

If you don't like the clown,

Stop going to the circus.

Character Sketch for Arthur

 Superior Donuts by Tracy Letts

I’m the proprietor of a lackluster donut shop in 1988 and have been for a long time now.  I was born on Xmas eve, 1948, raised in Chicago, but not the South side.  My early life was normal.

Nothing traumatic happened to me until my late teens when I was peripherally involved in one of the 1966 riots.  I was mixed in with the rioters and an Irish policeman busted my skull with a night stick and worked me over.  No serious physical injuries but it had a profound effect on my outlook on life.  Once a guy has been beat up, it’s normal to turn into a rabbit.

It was shortly after this event that I received my notice to report for duty and go to Viet Nam.  Well, I took the bus to Toronto and evaded the draft.  I’ve lived with that.

The reason for evading the draft was more that I feared what might happen to me.  I could have cited a lot of bullshit reasons, but I’ve come to realize that it was simply being scared.  This has shown up often in my life since and I think it all goes back to that fateful night the cop whacked me on the head.

If I look in the mirror, which I do as infrequently as possible, I see a somewhat unkempt image.  It is unshaven but not to grow a beard.  I see the need for a haircut.  I’d have to turn my head a little to see my ponytail, it’s a statement.  I can’t see it, but I probably don’t smell all that good.  Not something I would know since my smell is saturated with me.   I align with hippies, “peace man.”

Anyone critically familiar with me would say, “Arthur’s a scaredy cat who just doesn’t care.”  It sort of shows in almost all my dealings with people.  Even those that could occur, don’t because of it.  I don’t normally take the initiative with people, and I tend to let them have their way with me.

My business would indicate to an impartial observer a decided lack of interest in making any more of it than there already is.  A storefront, a counter with stools to accommodate 6 people, a register with another smaller, waist-high, counter for take-out.  We sell coffee and donuts, superior donuts.

What makes them superior is the recipe that was handed down to me.  They are the best anywhere and there are a lot of people who come back again and again to buy them.

Then, the other night, someone broke in and vandalized the place and spray painted the word, “PUSSY” in red on the wall.  I called the police, but they didn’t seem to offer anything but a little sarcastic sympathy.  One officer does seem a little concerned and has been in several times to touch base.

I recently lost my counterperson and would replace him with the right person.  So far no one has applied, and I haven’t really been asking around all that much.  I just don’t care.

Who do we have here?  Some kid just walked into my shop.