Where There's Smoke...: Musings of a Cigarette Smoking Man, a Memoir (7 page)

I suppose one needs to explain that in those days, one’s academic life was constructed in years, not in credits. In third year one took third year courses, and most of those were prescribed by the major that one had selected. If one failed second year one didn’t move into third year. The current system of student-selected credits was far in the future. As a result, our small group of philosophy students which included Ed Broadbent and me, as well as a young woman whose name I don’t recall who always topped the class, continued together for this year and the next. And results were still posted as a standing. Ed and I were generally tied for first among the second tier with only the unnamed woman being in the first tier.

As I entered third year there were to be two major changes in my life: I was now a director, not an actor, and I became much more involved in campus politics. I was elected by my housemates to be president of Jeanneret House and was therefore a member of the Sir Daniel Wilson Residence Council, neither position particularly taxing. More challenging was being asked to take a leading role in designing a constitution for the merger of the University College Literary and Athletic Society with the University College Women’s Union. Strange as it may seem now, while the college was completely coeducational, it had two separate governing bodies for student activities, one male and one female. It was our job to develop a new constitution for the merged organization and present it to the student body for approval. It all happened, the new governance body retaining the name University College Literary and Athletic Society, and that spring I was elected to be the first president of the new organization for the academic year to follow, a source of some satisfaction after my humiliating defeat when I ran for Head Boy at Aurora High School.

I was also to become at least marginally involved in real politics. Stimulated by Stephen Lewis and Gerry Caplan in particular, my good friend Bill Tepperman and I became increasingly interested in the CCF, the political party of the left that later became the New Democratic Party of Canada. Not that we did a lot, but we went to some rallies and helped to get out the vote on election day in March 1957, though we were both too young to vote ourselves, the voting age being twenty-one at the time. We had the good fortune to meet M.J. Coldwell, one of the great leaders of the movement, at Stephen’s family’s home, and the misfortune to be at their home that day in March 1958 when Progressive Conservative leader John Diefenbaker swept the country. Stephen’s father, David Lewis, who would later become leader of the federal New Democrats, turned to his son Stephen and said in all sincerity, “Not in my lifetime, but in yours.” As it happens it’s not looking good for Stephen’s lifetime either.

Fortunately, for me at any rate, my theatre career was looking a good deal more promising than my life in the world of real politics. I directed one more one-act play for the tiny Women’s Union Theatre,
The Creditor
by Strindberg, which was also presented in the festival of one acts at Hart House. Fred Euringer bemoans in his memoir,
A Fly on the Curtain,
that my production, rather than his, was awarded first prize by Amelia Hall, the adjudicator. My memory, since confirmed, is that the festival was noncompetitive at that time. Still, Millie must have liked it. Fred goes on to describe the bizarre private adjudication that took place in Donald Sutherland’s very bohemian apartment.

I tried my hand at production management and set design for the UC Follies, the annual musical revue presented by University College in Hart House Theatre. But more important was my first opportunity to direct a full length play. Each year University College and St. Michael’s College combined forces to rent space in Hart House and present a major production. The previous year it had been Kurt Reis’s production of
Summer and Smoke
with me as an actor; this year I was invited to direct. We chose the showy, emotional, domestic drama
A Hatful of Rain
by Michael Gazzo, which I had seen in London the previous spring. Originally created through a series of actors’ improvisations, the play, while somewhat melodramatic, is highly actable. Following my first lesson in directing, I once again chose the best actors, in this case Ray Stancer again, Maureen Fox, and Colin Hamilton. The three of them did a great job and we all got excellent reviews. Ray and Maureen would go on to play Willy and Linda in Gill’s production of
Death of a Salesman
the following year. From there, to the great disappointment of us all, Ray went on to law school. Colin went to Los Angeles and so far as I know has made a living as an actor if not as a star. I don’t know what happened to Maureen, who was just as talented.

As you read this you might ask, “Where are the women?” You would have a point. During this period there were almost no female directors, certainly none at U of T. What were women’s ambitions at the time? What were men’s expectations of women’s ambitions? I remember being at a party with Cathy when one enterprising young man decided to conduct a survey. He asked each of the women why they were attending university. It’s hard to believe now, but at the time no one thought it a strange question. And, of course, it didn’t occur to anyone to ask the men the same question. If you can believe this, a common answer was they wanted to be educated so they would be more interesting for their educated husbands. How embarrassing is that?

Cathy and I had been what would now be called ‘dating’ for nearly two years. And how did we do that? Cathy lived at home with her widowed mother and brother and I lived in a men’s residence. Sometimes Cathy would be home alone and we could make out in the living room, all the while listening for the front door to open. Making out consisted of little more than rolling about with our tops off, but still one didn’t want to suddenly look up and find her mother in the doorway. My residence presented other opportunities and challenges. Quite simply, we were not permitted female visitors. Quite simply, we had them anyway. The drill went something like this: since the only entrance was through the front door of the house and since one then had to walk past the door to the common room, the resident would enter the house with his female companion, leave her for a moment in the vestibule while he closed the door to the common room, to the envious stares of the less fortunate young men who had only each other’s company for the evening, and then lead one’s companion to one’s room and close the door. Leaving was easier as one could go down the back stairs and out the fire door. Of course once in the bedroom with the door closed pretty much anything could happen, provided one wasn’t too noisy. Some of the older students likely went ‘all the way,’ others ‘saved themselves for marriage.’ Eventually Cathy and I lost our virginities but, my, we took a long time getting there.

It seemed that many of my friends and housemates were getting married or engaged at least. Cathy and I got along very well, but it was a decidedly calm relationship. If she was passionate about me she kept it well hidden, and me, well I questioned the whole notion of romantic love. It’s odd to say, but it seemed that I either had to break up with her or propose to her. I couldn’t think of a good reason to break up with her so I proposed. And she accepted. We agreed to marry the next year after she had graduated and shortly before I would. Goodness knows what my mother thought of all this. I don’t think she ever thought Cathy was the right woman for me, but when she said, “I think you should just live with her,” given the era, one thought she was being rhetorical. Unh-unh. She was serious, but not practical. Even if my mother could have handled it, Cathy’s family could not. Times have changed.

It did however become acceptable to have intercourse if one were engaged, to just jump the gun a bit, as it were. I don’t know if I knew that when I proposed, but I was glad to discover it after. Later, when the marriage was struggling and I went to the great William Blatz for counselling, he said that he didn’t think I would have married her if I hadn’t slept with her before the wedding. I still wonder if I heard that right. The Sixties were a great divide in sexual relationships and we were clearly still on the other side. Blatz also said if we divorced I would have a permanent scar. Well, perhaps I do, alongside the scars from my other two divorces, to say nothing of the bruises from the relationships that broke up without my having been married. Scarred and bruised, that’s me.

But in the winter of 1958, still innocent of the coming indignities, I had a phone call from a student at Victoria College, Karl Jaffary. I don’t recall if I had met Karl before that call but he had a proposition to suggest and could we meet to discuss. We did, and born of that discussion was a summer theatre company that we ran together for the next four years. I never asked Karl why he came to me with his proposal. Perhaps in the arrogance of youth it never occurred to me that there could be any other choice. In any event, his proposal was that he and I take over the summer theatre in Port Carling, where I had been stage manager the year before, and a child actor many years before that. Karl had some management experience and by now I had technical experience; we would run the operation together, but supervise our own areas of expertise, such as they were. I would also get to direct at least three productions and would act if necessary. Sounded like a plan to me and so we began what would become the Revived Straw Hat Players, my cousins graciously allowing us to use the name.

Launching a theatre company is similar in many ways to what I can only imagine giving birth must be like. It’s really easy to start the process; the process, once started, is long, painful, and challenging; the rewards are never really appreciated because the result takes so much work; and years later it is easy to forget it was so hard and do it all over again. It wasn’t until 1972 that I was to do it again, in Lennoxville, Quebec, but I vowed after that, never again. Somehow in 1991 I imagined that starting a theatre school would be easier than starting a theatre company. It wasn’t.

How did we solve all the obstacles between us and opening night? I don’t know, but somehow we did, all the while writing essays and studying for exams, and in my case writing a new constitution for the student governing body. We adopted a pretty simple business model. We looked at all the numbers for past seasons in Port Carling and budgeted to the lowest revenue year, which happened to be the year before Hozack and Tobias. Gill helped us with planning and showed us how to begin the season with small cast plays, grow to larger plays in mid-season, and shrink again at the end. As usual we would be doing eight or nine plays in weekly rep. Somehow we obtained the lease for the theatre, the Port Carling Town Hall, raised some capital with help from my father, and formed a company, Davis-Jaffary Productions Inc., with further help from my father. Since I was too young at age twenty to be the director of a company in Ontario in 1958, the “Davis” in the name had to be my father rather than I. Since Karl was two years older than I, his name was legal.

Selling program advertising space was to be a major source of financing. Karl made a first attempt to sell space on a trip to Port Carling in the winter. Have I mentioned that Port Carling is a summer tourist town? Karl found most of the businesses closed; the merchants were all curling. Undeterred, Karl and I made a trip together in the spring, confident that in a day or so we could make the necessary sales. What a disappointing day. Either no one was home or no one was buying. Discouraged for the future of our unborn company we were driving out of town late in the afternoon when we saw the sign for an insurance agent, Frances J. Day. What the heck, let’s give it a shot. Mr. Day was a charming older man who invited us into his office and faster than you can say “Straw Hat Players,” bought a full page in our program. By the time we got back to the car we were in hysterics. This lovely man had saved our season. For years we only had to say the words “Frances J. Day” to each other and we would break into hysterical laughter and tears of relief.

For the season we were able to assemble a terrific group of young actors and some very good directors. In the company were Judy McLeod, Fred Euringer, Mary (later Mia) Anderson, John Saxton, Julianna Gianelli, John Douglas, and William Brydon, with a guest performance from Donald Sutherland in
Harvey
. My cousin Donald Davis directed the opening play,
Castle in the Air
, and his brother Murray directed
Born Yesterday
and
Papa Is All
, which I acted in. I directed
The Voice of the Turtle
,
Miranda
, and
Every Bed Is Narrow
. Amelia Hall directed
Harvey
.

Largely drawn from the undergraduate acting pool, they were a unique and talented group. John Douglas, struggling to maintain his upper-class lifestyle on our meagre salaries, pouring himself the weakest Scotches that could still retain the name and not be called water, became a writer and Executive Producer of radio drama for CBC. John Saxton was a wonderful actor, but too tall, at least for me. I am, or was, six foot three and was always used to looking down at people. John was six foot four. How could I direct someone I had to look up to? I had no experience of looking up at someone and as soon as I bent my head back to look up I lost all authority. “Sure, John, whatever you say, yes, do that, by all means.” John Saxton turned his talents more to writing before dying at the young age of fifty-six. Judy McLeod was our beautiful ingenue playing leads in
Voice of the Turtle
and
Born Yesterday
, but, so far as I know, never pursued the career for which she was uniquely suited. Fred Euringer — stern, Germanic, and a little intimidating — had played many leads for Gill at Hart House, and after a short career with Stratford and Canadian Players went on to head the Drama Department at Queen’s University in Kingston. Cathy was also in the company in a combined production and acting position.