THE DIMMING OF SHENANDOAH by Bob Foreman

Mary Ann Powell-Parker was the costume designer my first two seasons at Rhode Island's Theatre by-the-Sea, and she was an interesting piece of work.  Another attractive Southern Belle, from Virginia, she seemed more a performer than shop girl, for many reasons including the fact that she wore only white.  We were told that, in the winter, she wore only black.  I didn't doubt it. 

She was crafty and cunning, but she turned out the goods with the help of some imported New Yorkers and some local slave girl stitchers.  That season, 1978, one of the locals, I think her name was Barbara, was assigned to the wardrobe function, meaning that she had to attend to the daily duties of laundering and repairing the costumes of the current production.  She was a dour, unhappy creature, rotund and plain.  As I recall she wanted out from the get-go, but she was placated into staying on.

On the show prior to Shenandoah, the first mishap occurred.  It was her duty in the afternoon to enter the empty stage, lit only by the ghostlight, cross downstage and throw on the bull-switch to the left of the stage manager's desk, thus giving her sufficient worklight to climb the landingless steep stair to the dressing rooms, so to collect the clothes.  That bullswitch was the main switch for the whole theatre, but we'll come to that in a minute. 

This day, coming down that stair, laden with a basket too full (for she was inclined to be lazy), she stumbled and fell, at least halfway down the stair.  Somehow, she survived, but after a day's absence at hospital, she returned even more angry for now she wore a very severe neck brace.

Shenandoah was a magnificent production, the scenery having been designed by Gary Prianti, who knew exactly how to scale the sets to fit the house.  He had crammed more scenery into that show than seemed possible.  We had a fine cast as well, and the pleasure of having Nina Farragher (Mabel) back again.  We had already played one week out of the three.

On the day of the final and repercussive mishap, Barbara Wardrobe, in brace, entered upon the dark stage as per routine.  This time she didn't even make the stair, for the bullswitch had decided to complete the term of its useful life, and upon her turning it on, the internal works of the switch fell apart, arcing against one another, thus exploding and hurling the poor gal almost to the back wall of the stage.

"Is she OK?" was actually of only secondary concern to the foremost question, how do we get freakin' electricity for that evening's performance?

The local Wakefield electrical man, friendly to the theatre and familiar with its wiring, was immediately summoned, and in short order reported to Tommy Brent, the Producer, the bad news.  Tommy, he said, this is it!  No more nonsense!  You've got (or rather, had) a 200 amp switch, and you're pulling upwards of 400!  We can do a temp for tonight, but the entire entrance service gear has to be replaced, including the wires to the telephone pole on Card's Pond Road.  Oh!  And including the telephone pole. 

The instant estimate was something around $7,000, and Tommy almost fainted.  However when the nice electrician Pete Holland countered with the suggestion that he phone OSHA, TB mournfully acquiesced.  The changeover took the remaining two weeks of the run and resulted in our losing one of the two cherished stage level dressing rooms to non-1929 switchgear.

But what of the show?  We have a show tonight!!!  Alas, all they could give us was 14(!) stage lights (out of 200) and the two follow spots.  ALL THAT SCENERY, and no one would see it again.

But back to poor, slovenly Barbara.  After the performance that evening, I ran across Mary Ann Powell-Parker, who had just returned from the hospital where the gal had, once again, been carted.

How is she?  Oh, she'll live.  But Bob, she looked up at me from that bed, with those big cow eyes and said, O, Mary Ann, I don't think I'll make it out of this summer alive!

And you know what, Bob?

I think she's right.