By Noreen
Hedy Weiss, the Sun-Times theater critic whom I respect greatly, once wrote for a Jeff Committee program that she hates nostalgia. I’ll never forget her saying that, because I am a person who has always been steeped in it by the bucketful.
I always wonder why and where my “always looking back” came from. Was it a product of my natural Irish roots, always feeling a mix of joy with a little melancholy? In grammar school, high school and college, I wrote for the school’s newspaper, reporting on things that happened and recording significant events in my articles. Reporting something made it memorable and created history. Was that it? Or was it the fact that all of us who worked at Candlelight saw Bill Pullinsi’s tremendous production of FOLLIES (he produced it twice) as kids, teaching us early on about the follies of being young and wanting to be old and being old and wanting to be young. FOLLIES is decidedly all about nostalgia – what we remember, what we don’t, how we choose to remember things that maybe didn’t happen, and those that did.
Which brings me to the significant losses of the week. Bernie Yvon, 50, who one minute was calling the theater to say he will be at rehearsals, a few minutes later gone, hit by a semi truck. The pain was raw and deep and dark. The only other time I remember crying while writing for work was when I had to type the words, “Candlelight Dinner Playhouse is Closing after 38 Years.” Last Saturday, I found myself thrown into the position of finding photos of Bernie, his bio, pulling his credits together quickly to provide to the media. There had been other significant losses the same week (Roy Leonard, the WGN reporter who was of Candlelight’s biggest proponents) and Molly Glynn, who was married to Joe Foust who worked at Candlelight. All so difficult.
But for my Candlelight friends, I really only want to focus on Bernie. I was telling my co-workers Monday that I was sad because I had shared a dressing room with Bernie for many shows at Candlelight. They quizzically looked at me and asked how?
As a hostess and subsequently house manager, my job was to monitor the lobby and bring any seniors who had a “I’m out for dinner and it’s a celebration” Manhattan that didn’t mix well with their meds upstairs to the mezzanine to watch the show, thereby not entering the theater and blocking the four entrances/exits for the cast, at risk of injuring both parties. There were those types lumped together with the occasional husband who just couldn’t sit through a musical – so he “really” had to go to the bathroom. I still look back and think how blessed I was to sit in that lobby, reconciling the tickets for the night, listening to so many wonderful CDP productions night after night. And get PAID. Really?
In my 16 years of working at Candlelight, I have seen more actors in that lobby in their underwear than my Irish Catholic mother would like to imagine. The lobby at Candlelight was one of the dressing rooms as we know. As actors would change, or simply wait to take the stage through the north exit, you could see everything here (and I’m talking sometimes literally, sometimes figuratively). Nerves, tantrums, vocalizing, stretching – you name it. Sometimes actors were totally relaxed offstage during the show. Dale Benson and Bob Thompson would often use their breaks offstage to help me with my homework.
Now Bernie. I would look forward to Bernie being in the lobby. Bernie would do impressions of customers, creating hilarious animated stories; for instance, the woman in the front row who spent the day shopping to pick up her new, blue polyester ensemble at Sears for a night out. He would have goofy conversations with the picture of “Gramps” Altier in the lobby that had me in tears. He was funny in the goofiest way possible. He was totally comfortable in his own skin.
After Bernie’s passing, what I continuously see in various social media posts, is how everyone felt universally that he was their friend. He didn’t differentiate between crew and cast. My co-workers at my agency were saying, “You know…you could say to him, ‘Wow, you were amazing tonight!’ and he would say, ‘Wow, the press you got on this show was amazing. Thank you!'” Bernie always brought it back to the other person. When I was thinking about him, I found myself thinking about the line from the The Great Gatsby where Fitzgerald describes Gatsby:
“He smiled understandingly-much more than understandingly. It was one of those rare smiles with a quality of eternal reassurance in it, that you may come across four or five times in life. It faced–or seemed to face–the whole eternal world for an instant, and then concentrated on you with an irresistible prejudice in your favor. It understood you just as far as you wanted to be understood, believed in you as you would like to believe in yourself, and assured you that it had precisely the impression of you that, at your best, you hoped to convey.”
But for those of who knew Bernie, he was a little bit more like Gatsby meets Paul Lynde.
With my inclination towards nostalgia – hey, I’m the one that planned two reunions – I had to go back to the program book that I created for our last reunion to see what he had said when I asked employees for their favorite recollections. Here is Bernie’s entry:
“Candlelight was THE best place to work when I was finishing college and starting my professional life here in Chicago, so when I first got cast as Young Buddy in FOLLIES I thought I had truly “made it.” I remember going to the lakefront and crying with joy – I couldn’t believe my good fortune! FOLLIES remains one of my favorite experiences of all time, and the next several shows I did there are equally special to me in my memory and my heart. The work was great, the people were kind and professional – it felt right and it felt like home. I’m grateful to Bill and Tony and June and all the wonderful people I met and worked with there. Oh, and those black bottom sundaes! And the apple pie! Doesn’t get any better than that. I even sometimes miss the smell from the Argo factory as it wafted across the stage. Ok, maybe not that. Thanks for the memories, Candlelight. I miss ya big time!”
I always say that there should be a game: six degrees of separation from Candlelight. So many of us started our careers there. I was incredibly fortunate to be able to work with Bernie over the last 14 years through my PR agency. With Bernie serving as the lead at so many theaters like Marriott, Drury Lane and Theatre at the Center, he did a lot media interviews and he was always lovely and gracious. All of us “Candlelighters” are all not so fortunate as to be able to stay in touch like that, but Candlelight was and is a family. In the wake of Bernie’s, Roy’s and Molly’s losses, l think we are all taking a little time to reflect on those who mean and meant a lot to us and tell them how special they are. Candlelight friends, that means you. Sending so much love to all of you.
The image posted is a cover that I had gotten during the run of SINGIN’ IN THE RAIN. Publicists collect covers the way athletes collect awards. I was so happy to see it today, and remember the happiness of that production, which became such a major hit. And of course I still have that cover. Did I mention that I’m nostalgic?
