A Little Late…

…But the man was legendary, so I suppose my tribute can’t possibly be too late.

I learned recently that the man who taught me how to properly swab a deck and cuss like a sailor died this year.

Read the obituary for John Delaney, Former Scene Shop Foreman of San Joaquin Delta College, here

When I arrived in the theater department at Delta College in 1992 because “I’d taken a theater class in high school and thought maybe I might like to try it again”, I was lucky enough to also be in the cast of Spoon River Anthology. (Not a whole lot of surprises here. It was a cast of 78 and I think 79 or 80 auditioned.)

Because we were all required to procure a chair for us to sit in on stage, I was escorted into the bowels of the theater. But someone had already snagged the chairs cushy enough for the rich Dora Williams (Yep, I played a murderess) so I went back upstairs into the scene shop.

JD hooked me up with a chair carcass and then proceeded to show me a thing or two about a thing or two and that I’d need to get some fabric and some stuffing, but he had the upholstery tape I’d need.

Ummm… Okay, JD. I’ll take your word for it. I ain’t never redone a chair before, but what the hell?!

Over the next week, JD showed me how to use the old rotten fabric to be a pattern on the new fabric I got. He showed me how to use wood stain. He showed me how to use that upholstery tape across the frame so my butt wouldn’t fall straight through the chair. He showed me how to cover the bottom and staple it so that it wouldn’t be ugly.

In turn, I showed him I can build anything I put my mind to.

During opening weekend, I got laid off from my little craft store job. John White noticed I was upset and at the end of the conversation, told me not to worry because on Monday I would be on the clock in the scene shop.

That chair JD showed me how to recover was what got me the job. I still have that chair. I’ll never get rid of it. That thing reminds me how far I’ve come and how much farther I can go with just a little bit of help.

Over the next three years, I learned how to build flats, cut steel pipe, wield a saber saw, safely use a pneumatic nail gun, paint without dribbling, get straight on every screw, sew backdrops, use the fish on the table saw, build banisters, properly mop a stage, hang scenery, use a chassis punch, operate a band saw with incredible precision, lament about and fix old cars (namely his old Dodge truck and my ’68 Mustang fastback), use a wood lathe, tap and die nuts and bolts, wash paint brushes and cuss like there was no tomorrow.

But even through all the scenic conundrums we faced, JD always had a plan of attack. He always knew how to approach the project even if he didn’t know for sure how it’d work out.

And then there was one time when I was a Master Carpenter for our production of Hair. The director wanted two puppet heads made for Mom and Dad. Their mouths had to move…only powered by the jaws of the actors who’d be wearing the heads.

The small head had a diameter of about 2 feet and was only 2 feet tall. The other was almost 3 feet tall. They were molded by the costume department and built from papier mache.

Once dry, they were brought into the scene shop. They were now officially “our problem”.

Me: Hey JD, the heads are here.
JD: Shit.
Me: What kind of guts are we gonna put in them?
JD: Well shit, they got nothin’ in ’em?
Me: Yeah, they’re just shells. What’re we gonna do?
JD: Goddamn. I dunno.
(I was stunned. My jaw dropped.) Me: What? You don’t know?
JD: No fuckin’ clue.
Me: But…You don’t…I don’t…How are we… You’re just fuckin’ with me, right?
JD: Nope. I dunno how we’re gonna do it, but we are, goddammit. Somehow. Even if we gotta stuff ’em with goddamn Kotex, these bastards are gonna work.

We brainstormed for a few days. JD had the idea to take a couple of old hardhats we had laying around and affix all-thread to them and flush mount it through the heads with j-nuts (or them other similar nuts that are escaping my memory at the moment but mount flush and press fit so as not to turn).

So we got the hardhats in there okay, but that didn’t solve how to hold them to the actors’ heads nor did that solve how to make them talk.

We bounced a few more ideas off of each other. Heat setting, self-adhesive velcro worked as sturdy chin straps. But again, how to make ’em talk?’ We were running out of time.

JD took a box cutter to the mouths and then pondered the shells he’d cut out.

JD: We need a fulcrum…and something to mount these pieces of shit to. Maybe a hinge.
Me: Ummm… Okay, but these are hollow and we still gotta figure out how the actors can make them talk.

The light bulb went on above his head and he retreated to the tool cage for some two-part foam. He filled ’em up and we shaped them a little so that the actors could still get them on, but all the while, we kept wondering what kind of hinge and mechanism we were gonna build to make them actually move with the actors’ mouths.

Somehow the next day while I was putting some finishing touches on something else, the idea came to me.

Me: JD! I figured it out! Did you figure out how we’re gonna make ’em talk? How we’re gonna attach the mouths?
JD: Nope, the bastards are still sittin’ there.
Me: We can use lightweight fabric for a hinge.
JD: Well goddamn. Yeah, we could.
Me: And with all that foam in there, we can shove a couple of pieces of coat hanger into it and put a piece of cardboard on them to hold ’em steady.
JD: Shit, let’s try it!

We did. When I put that first puppet head over mine and made the mouth move, we were both so glad…well, relieved anyway… It was only a day or two before dress rehearsals, but we’d come through even without having any idea how we were gonna make it work.

As you can tell, I look back fondly at my days in the scene shop. I learned so much about stagecraft and even more about life. I don’t freak out during crises. I don’t. The show must go on and there’s always a way to make it happen even if you don’t know how.

Goodbye JD. And thank you for EVERYTHING!

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