As we approach the dog days of summer, I thought it was high time to once again empty the old mailbag, see who’s been visiting the site, and read some of the comments they’ve been leaving.During this past week alone, I must have received more than a dozen. No doubt fans are curious about One Summer, perhaps Yes, And…, or the ongoing developments concerning Hooked, Line and Love, Steve Chicorel, and Organic Media.
So, let’s roll up our sleeves and get to it.

IOP Programs i said:
IOP Programs in Georgia – Intensive Outpatient Programs designed to provide flexible, effective mental health treatment.

I have to admit, this one has me a bit stumped. But okay…
Dear IOP Programs What are you saying? Do you possibly know something I don’t? Like President Trump, I take a cognitive test every three days.
Here we go:
Uh… elephant, buffalow, clock, piano, eh, uh, gee…
Thank you for your concern, and don’t forget to pick up your copy of Fool’s Gold, available exclusively on Amazon.
Next caller.
Eric is a repeat poster. In fact, he felt so strongly about one subject that he posted three times. And they were all the same. It must be important.
What’s on your mind, Eric?
MELODY THOMAS SCOTT FROM THE YOUNG AND THE RESTLESS FAVOURITE SHOW CP24 154
Okay, thanks, Eric.
Or should I just call you Bot for short? Either way, I couldn’t agree with you more, especially the CP24 154 part. That moved me to tears, friend. Good luck.
Next post. Whoops. Eric again. Maybe he forgot something.
Go ahead, Eric. You’re on the blog:
RITCHIE MOONEY T L KENNEDY WILL YOU MARRY MAHALIA JAILAL
You asked that last time.
Next post, please.
Eric? Again?
Okay. Longtime reader, many-time poster.
RITCHIE MOONEY T L KENNEDY SECONDARY SCHOOL WILL YOU MARRY MAHALIA JAILAL
Folks, I am so sorry.I apologize for Eric. I don’t know what has gotten into him. Apparently, he has booked plenty of time on the prison computer.
Okay, we have time for just one more.
RITCHIE MOONEY TL KENNEDY SECONDARY SCHOOL DISTRICT PROGRAM MY MOM NAME IS MAHALIA JAILAL WILL YOU BE HER NEWGIRLFRIEND
Okay, that’s it. Eric you have abused your privilege, I’ve had enough and am closing the old mailbag.
Once again, sorry folks. The rest of you can keep those comments coming, And remember the words of the immortal Eric, when he said: Mahalia JAILAL will you be her newgirlfriend. 
Inspirational.

Oh, and here is one more that you didn't ask. But we shall tell you anyway.

​Work continues on One Summer as we enter the homestretch. With only a handful of chapters remaining and an interview with fellow cast member Michael still to complete, the finish line is finally coming into view.

A couple of One Summer updates!
From the Dean of Arts, Communications, and Social Sciences at Shasta College, Stacey Bartlett:
 
 “Well, that summer of ’77 sounds amazing! I’ve forwarded this message to our Marketing Department, and they are looking to see if they have anything from that time. I will keep you posted. Have a lovely day!”
 
The Redding Searchlight. Shasta County Newspaper of record has sent every several articles related to One Summer, and I have attached these here.
 
Very nice and as an added bonus, Mr. Michael Kamenir, Claude himself, one of the main characters from my memoir One Summer has reached out and has agreed to read, and fact check my 72-year-old brain. 
 
Chapters are being written and rewritten, the proposal is slowly getting into the hands of publishers and we are moving forward. In the meantime, I have  been thinking a lot of about the music of that period and decided that we all need a 1977 One Summer Playlist. Here are a few of my humble suggestions
 
Birdland – Weather Report
Lido Shuffle – Boz Scaggs
Telephone Line – Electric Light Orchestra
Don’t Stop – Fleetwood Mac
Nobody Does it Better – Carly Simon
Lonely Boy – Andrew Gold
Tonight’s the Night – Rod Stewart
Hotel California – The Eagles
You’re Love Has Lifted Me (Higher and Higher) - Rita Coolidge
It’s Over – Boz Scaggs
 
Purely Optional
Aquarius
Hair
Flesh Failures/Let the Sunshine In

Every performer has one summer they never forget. Mine was 1977.
 
Most of you have probably never heard of the Shasta College Summer Festival. It existed for only two summers, tucked between its bigger, beefier cousin, the Summer Repertory Theatre in Santa Rosa, California, and the mighty giant to the north, the Oregon Shakespeare Festival in Ashland, Oregon. Still, for a brief moment in time, the Shasta College Summer Festival became home to a remarkable collection of actors, directors, musicians, designers, dreamers... and a few unforgettable characters.
 
Like most theatrical endeavors, the festival accumulated its share of stories over the years. Some were true. Some grew a little taller every time they were told. No, there wasn't a freight train rattling the theater walls every time someone launched into a dramatic soliloquy. The train tracks were miles away.
 
The truth was even stranger.
 
That summer I was hired as part of a 20-person professional company. The smaller roles and chorus were filled by Shasta College students and members of the local community.
The season had already been announced in the audition notice: Hair, Man of La Mancha, The Hot l Baltimore, and a children's show that had yet to be revealed.

Welcome to summer stock.
 
Under the direction Cecil O. Johnson and producer Craig Thompson, we lived what felt like three theatrical lives at once. Rehearse one show during the day, perform another that night, then get ready to do it all again tomorrow. Rinse and repeat.
 
Then August arrived.
 
A massive forest fire erupted in the surrounding hills, turning the campus into a temporary headquarters for firefighters. Tents sprang up across the grounds. Exhausted crews slept wherever they could find a patch of grass and a few hours of rest.
 
Inside the company, rumors began circulating about a rather unfortunate health scare that many blamed on our newly arrived firefighter neighbors. The rumors spread almost as quickly as the fire.
 
For many of us, this was our first paid, semi-professional theater job. The company came from all over, some from as far away as Chicago, others recruited from Los Angeles and the prestigious ACT Theatre in San Francisco. We were learning our craft the old-fashioned way: by performing, failing, succeeding, changing costumes at impossible speeds, and somehow finding enough energy to party afterward.
 
Some of us would go on to careers in show business. Others would leave it behind entirely. A few are no longer with us. Summer stock is a little like a traveling circus. You come together from different corners of the country, live intensely for a few short months, then pack up and disappear back into our separate lives. 
 
Nearly fifty years later, I still think about my unique life that summer—and the people who shared it with me. It was exhausting. It was chaotic. It was occasionally hilarious, sometimes heartbreaking, and almost always unpredictable. And I wouldn't trade it for anything.
 
This is the prologue to a book I've been carrying around for nearly half a century. Some of it will make you laugh. Some of it may surprise you. A few parts won't paint me or others in the best light. That's all right. The older I get, the less interested I am in polishing the past. I'd rather tell it honestly.
 
For now, I'll be sharing these memories one story at a time. My hope is that, with enough time, enough research, and perhaps a little help from those who were there, they'll eventually become the book they were always meant to be.

We sometimes spend decades trying to revisit places that no longer exist. Not because they've disappeared physically, but because they existed only at the intersection of a particular place, a particular time, and particular people. And sometimes, that intersection is worthy of exploring.
This won't be a weekly feature. More likely once a month. No promises.
Just the truth... as I remember it nearly fifty years later.
​