Most Poor Sons of Bitches Are Starving To Death!

I have been called crazy. It's true. Some have called me crazy while others have said I am eccentric. Rob Hale simply says "Stephen is such an artist..." That is what he said when I had Tom's signature tattoo'd to my right ankle, while all of Tom's friends were FA LIPPING out. That tattoo is not the only kind of thing I do or have done that could be called eccentric. When people get that quizical look on their face because they do not understand Rachel--not even the concept of her--I simply say "I embrace my eccentricities."

And that is exactly what it is with me. I am an eccentric. I am whimsical. I am madcap. That's what they called Auntie Mame, isn't it? The ads for the book, the play, the movie all called her madcap..or at least the piece, itself. Literature and life are littered with the loveable lunatics that cause people to smile and sigh, wistfully, as they remember a happier time, a hilarious moment or an adventure, long forgotten. I have listened to people talk about my great grandmother and her headstrong actions that earned her the reputation for being a spitfire. Her daughter, my estranged Aunt Maxine, always claimed to be my Auntie Mame..sadly, a self proclaimed title that she could never hope to live up to. It simply wasn't in her. It must be horrible to want to be madcap and simply be boring. I have known madcap, I have been eccentric, I have been called crazy--indeed, I may have been crazy.

I think about the times that Pat tells people that we are from the south, where we bring our crazies down into the family parlour and introduce them to guests. I also think about the times that he tells people I am a Filipino--that other asian races may be crazy but they hide it; the Filipinos are crazy and they know it and are PROUD of it!! So there is a lot of zaniness, craziness, ECCENTRICITY in my/our lives.

But what of the other crazies in the world? I hear stories from people about the crazies in their life, in their family. I read about those in the news who are off the tree branch. I have, certainly, read about them in books and watched them in movies. How difficult is it, do you think? To be eccentric, to know you are eccentric and that you are disconcerting to your family, your friends, your loved ones; and to be unable to change it. You see, there are any number of reasons why someone is an eccentric....it is personal and varies from person to person. The interesting thing I have noticed is this:

People love the eccentric when they are fun and entertaining. They hate them when they are trouble. It is at those times that they want them to take medication, to be committed, to change into someone, something, anything else that would cause less stress. Well, that's no burden at all, is it? We all love the eccentric while we can benefit from their antics but shun them when the antics become drama. Don't people realize the prison that the madcap live in and the deeper prison that their pressure to be normal places them, further, into? There are artists who have created extraordinary work while hearing schizophrenic voices, poets who have written lauded works while in the depths of depression, actors who turn in Oscar wining performances but who have their families and friends walking out on them because their personality, away from the artwork, is unbearable. The artists could, perhaps, take some kind of medication that would help ... drugs that would make the voices stop, the depression lighten, the drama end; the only problem is that the medications also make the magic stop.

So what do we want? Do we want the magic? Or do we want the peace and quiet?

It's not just artists, either. Consider two films of recent year that have been extremely popular: THE DIVINE SECRETS OF THE YA YA SISTERHOOD and IN HER SHOES. In the first, Ashley Judd and Ellen Burstyn take turns playing the younger and older versions of Vivy, a free spirited woman who brought magic to the lives of her children--this is seen in flashbacks. The adventure she gave them shaped the whimsical nature of their personalities. Sadly, along with the magic came the tragic and there were beatings, abaondonments, abuses of all kinds, that scarred the children as they grew into adults. Would the daughter who became a writer (who declared that without her mother she would have nothing to write about) have been a succesful artist if that mother had not touched her life in such glorifying and horrifying ways? In the second film, sisters learn secrets about their chemically imbalanced mother, who took her life when they were very young. The older sister remembers more than the baby of the family but between what they remember and what they are told, it just turns out their mother was crazy. Whatever her brand of chemical imbalance was, she was troubled. She was one of those fun, adventurous, whimsical, eccentric mothers that made every day more exciting. She was, though, for the grown ups (and, at times, for the kids) difficult and emotional and what Pat and I call WORK. There was an option for the mother to be medicated but she refused and her husband thought it was best because they didn't want her to live a drugged up life. They recognized that the drugs would have altered her state. So where does the Edward Albee come in? Where is the delicate balance? How do you nurture the faerie, the elf, the unicorn and then ask it to live on the corner of Madison and 42nd street? Can it be done?

I do not know the answer.

I know that there are many alternatives in today's society, both medical and homeopathic, not to mention all the new agey, granola head things that people like I believe in. I know that our options are greater, now, than they were; and I am grateful that my family never drugged me up when I was a difficult, an eccentric, a crazy, an artistic child and teen. I was difficult. I was bad news. I was WORK. All of my childhood, my teens and my early twenties. Sometimes, I am still work. It doesn't happen often and, fortunately, the people who see it are limited to a rare few.

When I stopped drinking, a friend said "but you are so much fun at parties!" to which my friend, Larry Stillings, said "you don't have to be with him when he comes down." It was a tug of war. There were those who wanted the eccentric, at whatever cost. There were those who wanted the peace and quiet, at the risk of killing the eccentric.

I don't know what it is like for the other crazies out there, whether they be the crazies of the books or the movies or the ones that live and walk among us. I only know that I am grateful that I found the way to balance out the several different personalities that live within me, that I have Pat to ground me (and I know that he is glad to have me to show him the magic--he has told me).

Yes. As well as having been called eccentric and crazy, I have been called magical.

That's the one I like....

please note: the photo of Rosalind Russell as Auntie Mame was taken from the internet but the photo of me with the Rachels was done by Derik Klein

Elegance Personified

In a story below, I mentioned an actress for whom I have great passion. I included several photos of other actors mentioned in this piece but even though I tried seven times to include a photo of her, it wouldn't upload. I took it as a sign..

So here is my tribute to the lovely Eleanor Parker.

By the way, I searched...and searched....and searched. There are virtually no (nice!) photos of Eleanor Parker as (what is arguably her most famous role) Baroness Elsa Schraeder on the internet. One or two teeeeeny tiiiiny ones but that's it. I think I shall have to have Pat scan one in and add it later....

EnGarde!

Well, it’s almost over. Whatever are we to do next?

Tonight will be our last night at the Summer Swashbuckler series at the Film Forum. It’s been a marvelous adventure and (for both Pat and I, I think) an exciting trip back in time to our boyhoods, when swashbuckling was the dream of half of the boys in school. The other half had their sights set on baseball….

I’m so very glad that Pat found out about the film series. We both love movies, dearly; but, as he pointed out yesterday, for the last fifteen years almost all of our movie watching has been contemporary. Oh, sure, there were days when we would get out a Katharine Hepburn dvd, there was Valentine’s Day, when we went to BAM and saw BALL OF FIRE on the big screen. We have seen some old pictures during our twenty years together but one of the things that we have in common is that, as children, if it wasn’t in black and white, we wasn’t interested. He watched Charlie Chan and Sherlock Holmes while I was watching Fred and Ginger and Lana Turner. I don’t when or how or why we let our interest in the history of American cinema wane but it did. Suddenly, thanks to the Film Forum and this series, a fire has been lit again! What fun.

During the last month we have been treated to four Errol Flynn movies (CAPTAIN BLOOD, THE SEAHAWK, THE PRINCE AND THE PAUPER and THE ADVENTURES OF ROBIN HOOD), Leslie Howard in THE SCARLET PIMPERNEL, Ronald Coleman in THE PRISONER OF ZENDA, James Whale’s THE MAN IN THE IRON MASK, TREASURE ISLAND, Stewart Granger as SCARAMOUCHE, Tyron Power in THE MARK OF ZORRO, Don Ameche in THE THREE MUSKETEERS (with the Ritz Brothers—I have some choice words about this picture) and tonight is Robert Donat as THE COUNT OF MONTE CRISTO and Douglas Fairbanks Sr in THE IRON MASK.

Douglas Fairbanks sr. Let me tell you about Douglas Fairbanks sr. During this series we saw the great silent film star in THE MARK OF ZORRO, THE THREE MUSKETEERS, THE BLACK PIRATE and DON Q, SON OF ZORRO. These are all silent films. Here’s my secret. I never saw a silent movie before. I am sure they are available on dvd but I don’t own any and I certainly never saw one in the cinema; what is more I certainly never saw one with piano accompaniment. But all four of these Fairbanks pictures had a man pounding away his ORIGINAL SCORE to the film—sometimes twice a day for two hours each showing. Have mercy. Now. Never having seen a silent picture, I had no idea that Douglas Fairbanks was a STUD!!!! I had seen photos of him, so I knew he was handsome; I had no idea he had the most AMAZING body—his chest and his biceps were huge and in THE BLACK PIRATE he wore an outfit that exposed his legs and I have only, ever, seen a set of quads like this and they belong to ME. Oh YES. Douglas Fairbanks has legs like mine. NOBODY has legs like mine. Well, lemme tell you WHY Mr Fairbanks had such an incredible body: because he was an athlete of Olympian skill. You watch him swordfight and think Wow. Then you watch him pole vault, backflip, dive and swim. You watch him scale walls and commit feats of daring-do so out of the ordinary that you think you are watching the International Gymnastics Finals. The man was not just an actor, he was an athlete, the kind that I WISH I were! Nothing can, adequately, describe the prowess that this man possessed. As if watching silent films (for the first time) and Douglas Fairbanks (for the first time) weren’t enough—I finally got to see the acting abilities of women whom I have only read about for years! Billie Dove! Mary Astor! Marguerite De La Motte! Barbara La Marr! I get it now. I get what she meant when she said “We didn’t need dialogue, we had FACES then!” This was a major thrill for me—and it serves to set a new bar and inspiration for my work on myself as a health and fitness expert, as an athlete.

I touched, earlier this month, on my feelings for Errol Flynn and how important it has been to see his four films this month. I also mentioned how much I loved THE SCARLET PIMPERNEL. The other films that have, randomly and without the theme of a certain star, been shown have all delighted me, equally! I had never seen THE PRISONER OF ZENDA and now it is one of the films I will order on dvd (we already bought the Tyrone Power MARK OF ZORRO). I never saw ANY version of THE MAN IN THE IRON MASK—nor did I ever read the book. This one was a surprise and a treat because I loved the story but I was also enthralled by the lush sets and costumes and the great cinematography and lighting. And then there was the over the top and campy performances of, oh, almost EVERY SINGLE ACTOR in the film but especially Louis Hayward and Joseph Schildkraut (I think Pat told me that James Whale coined the phrase swishbuckling for them). I had also never seen TREASURE ISLAND or, for that matter, a movie with Jackie Cooper as a child actor. Hmm. Holy Bernadette Peters, Batman!! All the kid do was cry and weep and pout and cry some more. He was so irritating! Nevertheless, I loved the movie. It’s Long John Silver and Jim Hawkins ! Wallace Berry and Lionel Barrymore! You can’t go wrong, even if the child star is like Shirley Temple with a pageboy. An especially nice treat was SCARAMOUCHE because I love Mel Ferrer and Janet Leigh but I am IN LOVE with Eleanor Parker (how can I help it—I am a gay male and she was the Baroness Schraeder in THE SOUND OF MUSIC; since I’m eight years old she has been the most elegant female I have ever seen) and I have always thought Stewart Graner was SO dashing! Now I have seen him (not only) in a movie but (also) in a swashbuckling movie! It’s tongue in cheek and daring and elegant and funny. I loved it and was very upset to hear fellow movie goers disparaging it as not very good and a C- movie. Ech. Some people are impossible to please.

Now, though, we come to the real rewards I have received for this month long trip to the movies, for this study in cinematic history (that Pat and I both want to continue). And it is with shame, shame, shame that I say this.

I just saw my first Danny Kaye film and my first Douglas Fairbanks Jr films.

That’s right. I never saw a Danny Kaye movie. Oh, when I was a child I saw HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN but I don’t remember it. As a teenager and young man I saw Danny Kaye on tv specials and stuff. I know that people ADORE him. Hell, he is one of Pat’s personal heroes, as well as Jake Speck (Jake is the closest I have ever come to having a son of my own and I love him as though he WERE my son and even though I knew of his idolatry of Mr Kaye, I never bothered to see any of his movies). My experience of Danny Kaye has been in clips and retrospectives. I saw THE MADWOMAN OF CHAILLOT but the truth is he has a significant but small role. For me, it is a Katharine Hepburn movie.

THE TURNOUT FOR THE COURT JESTER WAS THE BIGGEST FOR ANY MOVIE THIS MONTH.

People began to clap and cheer when the film started. They howled every time he so much as twitched an eyebrow. He continues to have a following that borders on fanaticism. Earlier this year I saw Jake’s one man show about Danny Kaye and heard all the facts and trivia---I truly had no idea that he had accomplished SO very much in his career. I truly had no idea what he had meant to the industry. What a remarkable talent. Having seen THE COURT JESTER, now, I understand. My Danny Kaye education has begun…

Sidebar: Angela Lansbury and Glynnis Johns in THE COURT JESTER. Lord Have Freakin Mercy.

Sidebar: Basil Rathbone in every movie I have seen him in this month. Oh My God. Did you know that he was considered the greatest film swordsman of his day? Because he always played the bad guy, though, he only won ONE sword fight on film, his entire career.

Oh. The other treat? Douglas Fairbanks Jr. We saw him in PRISONER OF ZENDA, GUNGA DIN and THE EXILE. He was so dashing and handsome, so charming and winning in ZENDA that it was difficult to view him as the bad guy. And THE EXILE is one of my new favourite movies. It was so simple and charming and it won me over, in spades! Online it is called sweeping and romantic…and a sadly forgotten gem. Gem, it is! I tend to fall asleep during movies, tend to have my mind wander..but this movie captivated me and kept me on the edge of my seat. Maria Montez is heavenly! All of this movie was heavenly. And, by the way, he wrote and directed it. I am, now, a die hard fan. I cannot, though, say anything about GUNGA DIN. I saw ten or fifteen minutes and went, promptly, to sleep. But he was good in what I saw. Handsome and charming.

And by the way, when I first came to New York, a well known publicity office hired me to go shoot red carpet and events for them, getting their clients on film. I shot a photo of Douglas Fairbanks jr, shortly before he died. I SHOT DOUGLAS FAIRBANKS! He is seen, above, with Arthur Penn. Suweet!

So I am sad to see the Swashbuckling series go… I loved it, so. I loved seeing my old idol, Errol Flynn and getting to find new ones, like Danny Kaye and both of the Fairbanks men…

I would be remiss, though, if I did not touch (briefly) on the absurd version of THE THREE MUSKETEERS starring Don Ameche and the Ritz Brothers. Granted, it was a MUSICAL COMEDY version of the Dumas story in which Porthos, Athos and Aramis are substituted (through comedy of errors) by three ridiculous oafs played by the Ritz Brothers. I suppose it was alright for the day and for what it wanted to be. I’m just a THREE MUSKETEERS purist. It has to be true to the novel or I cannot be bothered. Do you know that there have been SO many film versions of this novel that I couldn’t even begin to distill all the research for this piece? I’ve seen the Douglas Fairbanks silent film and it is (sort of) true to the book—not bad. I give it a solid B-. The wonderful Gene Kelly version is a real A-. I don’t think I can talk about the 1993 version starring Kiefer Sutherland, Charlie Sheen and Oliver Platt except to say that Chris O’Donnell is the most GORGEOUS D’Artagnan there has ever been and Rebecca de Mornay, a perfect Milady de Winter, even if they did butcher her part…. Of course, the best (in my mind) and most faithful version is the one with the all star cast, with Michael York, Raquel Welch and Faye Dunaway (I don’t think she was acting in the role of Milady de Winter—I think it was type casting). That version is an A+. By the way, there was a tv version with Maximillian Schell playing D’Artagnan. I found the Don Ameche version absurd, even though I have always loved him and even though Anne of Austria was played by a young Gloria Stuart! Oh, my head.

But for a month long movie festival, to have so few letdowns is a great average. And to come away with a new appreciation for silent films and for stars whose work I, otherwise, would not have known…well, it’s a rare, fair day when I can look back on a month of a single activity and say “THAT was worth the time, the trouble, the money and all the calories gained from all that movie popcorn!”

And it WAS worth the time. It really was.

Next up is the BUSTER KEATON retrospective….AND a screening of Jayne Mansfield in THE GIRL CAN’T HELP IT.

Did I ever tell you that I can squeak like Jayne Mansfieild?

That’s another story for another day….

please note: above (in descending order) are Douglas Fairbanks, Janet Leigh in Scaramouche, Maria Montez, Angela Lansbury and Glynnis Johns with Danny Kaye in The Court Jester, Arthur Penn and Douglas Fairbanks jr., and Douglas Fairbanks jr. All photos came from the internet except the one of Penn and Fairbanks jr., which I shot

Buckle and Swish

I sat in the attic, a young boy, a box of books on the floor in front of me. I had known the books were there. They were my father's--presumably from his childhood. My father loved to read. He had whole collections of the works of James Fenimore Cooper, there were volumes by Twain and other great writers. My dad wanted us to be readers too. He prided himself on his love of literature. My father and I did not always get along, while I was growing up; in other ways, though, I idolized him. I suppose what I really felt was the need for his approval. I wanted to feel close to him, in some, in any way.

I had known the books were there. I had wanted to be like my father. I remembered the hard, red cover of the book and the black lettering along the spine. The book was old but the condition was good. In fact, it was as though the spine had never been cracked.

I sat in the attic, a young boy, reading my father's copy of THE ADVENTURES OF ROBIN HOOD.

Not only did I have a desire to be close to my father; I had a need for a male role model. I was a boy--perhaps ten, perhaps somewhere in the year or two that was either side of that milestone birthday. It was the seventies and I was confused. I was confused because I knew that I was a homosexual. I didn't even know what a homosexual was. I only knew that there was something different about me, that I had a secret, that it must be kept a secret, that (for some reason) this secret was something that was perceived to be bad. I knew that I was not masculine and that I wanted, that society demanded, that I be masculine. I knew that I both needed and wanted male companionship--of any sort--and that I both needed and wanted male approval. I did not find these needs and desires at school and I did not get them at home. My father worked, and a lot. On the weekends, he preferred to focus on his family duties, household and gardening chores. Once those bits of work were done, his attention fell to social obligations. He was well liked and invited to many parties. He played sports on various leagues. Basketball and baseball, in particular, I seem to remember. Aside from these facts was the fact that I do not believe he knew, exactly, what to do with his (clearly) prissy son who shared none of his interests. I spent my time watching old black and white films on television and reading oversized photo books about Hollywood and movie star biographies. I would not like anyone reading this to resent my father for any part of my childhood. I do not. I respect and admire my father for the man he is, the life he has lived and the choices he has made. He did the best he could with a child who did not make it easy--something that seems to have been my main role in life until a few years ago. For some, it is still the role I play.

My male companionship, my male role models, my approval and friendships came in the form of daydreams based on the heroes I distilled from the literature and films I ingested. Two of these role models came in the same shape: Robin Hood and Errol Flynn.

I idolized them both. To have one of them immortalize the other on film was simply a happy coincidence.

Robin Hood was a true hero. I believe that it was my love of Robin Hood that instilled in me the value system that has gotten me into so much trouble throughout my life. The man was more concerned with the plight of others than with his own well being. He became an outlaw so that he could help those less fortunate than himself. He showed a loyalty to his king and country and displayed honour, in every way, bringing a (vigilante) justice to those who were deserving. I am not saying that I sit in judgment of people in any way, only that I have (often and, often, to my own detriment) put the needs of others ahead of my own needs. I have spent much time focusing on the underdog and those in need. I have prided myself on this aspect of my personality. I believe it is because Robin Hood was my boyhood hero. It was about more than the goodness; he was the greatest swashbuckler, the most dashing hero of all time. I, simply put, wanted to grow up to either BE Robin Hood or be WITH Robin Hood.

Once I had seen the film with Errol Flynn and the character had a physical appearance, I was lost; lost I tell you. I became enamoured of the great actor of days gone by who had brought to life my idol. I red books about the man that unveiled to me the many flaws in his character (I think this is when I began to learn to separate the artist from the human) and I poured over photo books, wondering what THE SEA HAWK, CAPTAIN BLOOD and THEY DIED WITH THEIR BOOTS ON were like. This was before the days of videotape and one could not just call up any old movie whenever they wanted. I had to wait til they were on tv! That can be a long wait for a young lad needing a role model! So my exposure to Mr Flynn became (and remained, for years) strictly limited to repeated viewings of ROBIN HOOD, which was on tv a LOT while I was growing up. There are, to this day, some Errol Flynn films I have never seen.

One of the adventures Pat and I undertook this summer was to spend many evenings and weekends at THE FILM FORUM downtown, watching the Summer Swashbuckler Series. It is difficult for me to sit in cinemas a lot. I have arthritis in my spine, a short attention span and insomnia. When you put me in a darkened room for more than ninety minutes, I tend to become uncomfortable, cranky and sleepy. This has been a month of double features. We have seen many Douglas Fairbanks Sr. silents (I am, now, a die-hard fan!), Stewart Granger in SCARMOUCHE (amazing film! Janet Leigh, Mel Ferrer, Eleanor Parker!), Leslie Howard and Merle Oberon in SCARLET PIMPERNEL, Ronald Coleman in PRISONER OF ZENDA, an amazing THE MAN IN THE IRON MASK (SO campy!!!) and we have seen Errol Flynn in THE PRINCE AND THE PAUPER, THE SEA HAWK, CAPTAIN BLOOD and (and there was a HUGE turnout for this) in ROBIN HOOD. The Swashbuckling Series has been one of the best things we ever did for ourselves. We both love the genre, we both love films and we both (I believe) have given the little boy living inside of us a chance to awaken, once more, to rise to the surface of our peronalities and re-live the fantasies of being a pirate, a rogue, a dashing man of romance and action. We have given these little boys inside a chance to be with our idols, our companions, our role models, again after so many years of allowing them to become a part of our past.

It has been, especially, significant for me to re visit my old pals, Robin of Loxley and Errol Flynn. I am aware that Errol Flynn was always considered b-list in Hollywood--little more than an action adventure star; I am here to tell you that they were wrong. He was an enchanting actor with impeccable comic timing and wonderful dramatic skills. He was one of the bright spots in the history of that town and more people should take a look at his films. As for Robin Hood--there have been many, over the years. I haven't sought them out. I loved Errol Flynn's Robin Hood too much to pay attention to the others. I will say, though, that the Disney Robin Hood is a very good one, as is Sean Connery's aged Robin in ROBIN AND MARION (with the great Audrey Hepburn)--and while we are on the subject of Marian--SIGH. OLIVIA DE HAVILLAND. That's it. There is no more to say regarding the matter. Only. SIGH. OLIVIA DE HAVILLAND. And while we are at it--I must see some more Basil Rathbone.

So I have had an opportunity to revist the past, to be a different Stephen--one that has been in hiding for a long time--for a couple of hours, once or twice a week. It has been a truly wonderful experience; even if you don't consider my emotional and psychological attachment to the characters and the actors, the mere fact of getting to experience these gems of cinematic history on the big screen--well, that's enough. People read books over and over but they don't investigate the treasures of old movies. We must. They are classics, like the ones taught in English classes in schools. They should be witnessed and enjoyed, like those volumes -- the ones that are packed in boxes and stored in attics. The ones that kids today don't read because they are busy with their computer games and their x-boxes.

I'm so grateful for the last month of swashbuckling and for the male companionship I have had while there; the companionship of my make believe heroes and that of my real life hero, Pat, who sits in the dark with me, holding my hand and offering me his approval.

As I have learned to offer it to myself.

Companionship. Role models. Approval. They lie wherever we choose to find them. I find it is best to find them within; then, to put them away and get on with your life.

Please note that I got the photo of Errol Flynn off the internet; and that I do not know the name of the person who took the photo of me dressed as Robin Hood for Halloween in 1981.

Mother's Day

Today is a special day for me. Well. It's a special day for all the Moshers. It's not a day that will have great fanfare because, for some reason, fanfare is something that either has never existed for the Moshers or it is something that DID exist and waned...I'm not really sure, to be perfectly honest with you. I know, for myself, a few years ago--while I was in my thirties--I sort of just FORGOT about fanfare. It wasn't important on a regular basis. Unless there was something the really celebrate, I didn't see the point.

When you are a child, everything is worthy of fanfare. Christmastime must be a production. So must Easter, The Fourth of July, Thanksgiving, birthdays, the first day of school, the last day of school... Everything was a milestone. When I was in my twenties it was the same way. In fact..I remember living through my twenties with landmark moments everywhere. If I was opening in a play, I spent weeks getting the RIGHT opening night gifts and cards. If there was to be a party in our home, it was days of prep work. If it was Christmas, there had to be a gift for everyone I knew. All of life had to be lived to the fullest. It wasn't really, though, living life to the fullest; it was living life to the noisiest. It was cachopany.

When I was 29 I moved to New York. That was a fanfare. Well...not really...it was a fanfare for awhile but on the the day I left town, I got into a car and said goodbye to Kim Held, Todd Bistany and Jane Titus and, together, Paul Tigue and I drove out of Dallas. Once I landed in New York, there was no fanfare. There was just quiet peace and the feeling of coming home--also the feeling of terror over the future. Since that day, since I arrived in Manhattan, I have become (some will laugh at this) quieter. Quieter inside. I don't need, I don't seek out the noise, the fanfare, the brouhaha. I spend Christmases wondering and searching for the true meaning. Birthdays come and go with no more than a celebratory trip to the Roxy to dance (excpept for my fortieth, which was deserving of a little noise); and all holidays are just another day. Happy Labour Day. Happy Easter. Happy St Patrick's Day. Happy Thanksgiving (this one is fine cause it's about family and food--essentials!). It is all just another day because, in my mind, every day should be a holiday. The Moshers don't really do presents anymore. We all have whatever it is we need and if each of us wants something, we have learned to go out and get it for ourselves... So it is all, always, just about a phone call to say Happy Father's Day, Happy Mother's Day, Happy Christmas, Happy Anniversary.

Happy Birthday.

Happy Birthday Mommy.

Today is my mother's birthday.

I don't have a good head for dates. One year, I (literally) forgot my own birthday til it was almost past. During the first few years of our relationship, I would have to wait for November and I would cheat a look at Pat's driver's liscence to see which date was his birthday. I have made so many jokes, over the years, about our anniversary being April 24th (Streisand's birthday--that joke makes Pat crazy) that I no longer know what our anniversary is.

I have never, never, forgotten my mother's birthday.

I tell Pat all the time that he is my favourite person. He is too. That is as it should be. Your spouse should be your favourite person.

But My Mother was my favourite person for 20 plus years before I met Pat. That gives her a place of honour in the favourite person hall of fame. In the movie PSYCHO, Norman Bates says that a boy's best friend is his mother. And, indeed, there are those who might say that referencing the movie PSYCHO when talking about me and my mother, is appropriate. I don't think mama and I are like Norma and Norman Bates--though I will say there are those who know that we can be feared..... I say that with my tongue planted, firmly, in cheek. But it is a little true.

I am my mother's son. We are equally stubborn, fiercely defensive of our loved ones, opinionated, passionate, artistic (yes, my mother is an artist, too). We have the same obsessive compulsive reaction to food. We look alike. We laugh alike. We talk alike. We cuss alike. She gets me; probably because I am so like her. She has always been there to protect me and we always go to each other to cry.

Everyone (if they are lucky) loves their mother. Some (if they are lucky) like their mother. My mommy is my champion, my hero, my protector, my teacher. While I was growing up, she taught me about beauty and about integrity. She taught me about dignity and about art. My mother gave me my work ethic and my temperment. She showed me how to fight for myself and for my loved ones. She taught me how to dance.

I remember nights, in high school, when she and I would stay up all night making costumes for school plays or cakes for school birthdays or banana breads for bake sales. I remember gathering books for school book fairs and watching over Ginger when she was about to deliver a litter of puppies. I remember the day when I was eight years old, coming down the stairs in my early morning grogginess and having her quietly say to me, her hand on my shoulder "Be real nice to daddy today...his mommy died last night." I didn't really know what that meant but she showed me, on that day, that it is a good thing to do pre emptive damage control for your spouse, to protect them in whatever way you could. There were days of great laughter, growing up--haha; once, in our home in Portugal, together, with great terror, we used a bb gun to shoot at, over and over, a humungous rat in the garden. We were all terrified and the poor creature was just repeatedly wounded and not dead..and we didn't know what to do.

My mother gave me my most treasured musical tastes. Natch, I love musical theater, Liza, Barbra and all the other divas. I would not have known about the other music out there, were it not for mama. It is a recollection so incredibly vivid that it transcends the time of thirty plus years. Living in Portugal, I would wake up on Saturday mornings, the sun not streaming but POURING into huge, open living room windows, reflecting up off of white carpets and sofas and bouncing off of buttercream yellow walls. The smells in the house were contradictory--there was the smell of Pine cleaner and Windex blending with the smell of bacon, frying eggs, pancakes and Portuguese coffee. As I came up the stairs to the main living quarters of the Mosher household, these sights filling my eyes and these smells filling my nostrils, my ears filled with my mother's music. Carly Simon's NO SECRETS, Carole King's TAPESTRY, The Mama's & The Papa's singing CALIFORNIA DREAMIN, John Denver, Jim Croce, Paul Simon, The Rolling Stones, Karen Carpenter, Bobby Goldsboro and my all time favourite singer, Helen Reddy singing PEACEFUL. I think this is why I still listen to these singers. They remind me of my mother. I think this is why I love the sun. It reminds me of my mother. I think this is why I cook and clean and open every window in my home, as often as I can; it reminds me of my mother.

Stargazer lilies remind me of my mother.

Mama and I used to turn on Neil Diamond singing SWEET CAROLINE and dance--he would say "sweet caroline" and the music would go BAM BAM BAM and we would do the bump.

She used to love to listen to my Barbra Streisand recording of TOMORROW. It made the house hopeful.

The smell of my mother's banana bread makes any day and any location Christmastime in Switzerland. I have learned to make that banana bread so that my home smells like my mother. It even tastes, almost, just right. I HAVE (I am proud to say) mastered her Thanksgiving tukey and dressing.

My mother was comfortable in jeans and a t shirt or in a Nolan Milleresque evening gown. She taught me how to to embrace the duality of dressing for one's various personalities.

So much of who I am is based on sharing blood and personality traits with this woman. Having come from this place, from this woman who was (as a child) nicknamed Snookie by her parents because she was a trouble maker like the famous Baby Snooks (created by Fanny Brice!), is a fact of myself that gives me more pride than almost anything about myself.

My mother is an extremely private person. She does not share her intimate thoughts well. She says "I love you" but that is just about where it stops.

When I was thirteen, I tried to kill myself. In the aftermath, my mother sent me a Hallmark card. I actually know, right now, where it is. I can turn around at my desk and open the drawer where I keep it and take it out. Oh. It turns out it ISN'T a Hallmark card--it is a Wood Winds card.

"Dear Stephen. I know you are different from other kids your age. You are also very spoiled and have little time for people who won't listen to you. But you must not hurt yourself. What good does that do. It doesn't hurt them. They just think you're crazy...."

When I was 19 I tried to kill myself again. I woke up in the hospital in the ICU ward, my mother holding my hand and saying "stephen.....stephen....where is your class ring?" I understood. Even at that young age, even in that compromised state, I understood--she needed something SPECIFIC on which to focus.

At 29, I was shot in a drive by shooting. Taken to the hospital and left there, on a gurney, in a hallway for six hours, I began screaming at Pat "Get my mother on the phone! She will get me out of here!!" He did. She did.

When I left Texas and moved to New York, leaving my mommy was one of the most heartbreaking moments of my life. Standing on the street in front of the office where she worked, holding each other and crying before getting into my UHaul and leaving..well..it's a most treasured moment in my life. She gave me the Dr Seuss book OH THE PLACES YOU'LL GO.

"Dear Stephen: For almost thirty years my life has been an adventure with you. Because you ARE an adventure. Granted, some of those years have been MAJOR ORDEALS but your progress forward these last few years have made up for most.... Anyway, you are about to start another adventure and I don't know why but I'm feeling a bit like you're going off to Kindergarten for the first time again....."

That's one of the things she has taught me most. Be straight. Be honest. Don't cut corners. Just freakin do it.

I say, often, that I am lucky to have chosen my favourite mommy for my own. She always says "Your favourite mommy? I'm your only mommy."

Yes.

But I believe, with every fiber of my being, in that place where you know things..that I was a soul waiting to be born and I looked through the catalogue and said "HER. SHE is the one I want."

Today is my mother's birthday. Today is my national holiday.

Let the fanfare begin.

ps. In the photos above, you will see my mother throughout the years; with me as a baby, my parents and me on my graduation day, together, and (most recently) mom and dad with their grandkids and then with their own children.

The Shaved Head Over The Minolta

It's been two years.

It was not my first retirement. I stopped working in the past, more than a couple of times. A history of emotional dishevelment caused me to walk away from my work at least three times. Once, I stopped working for 18 months because I was no longer able to get behind the camera with the entire publishing world saying they didn't want to publish THE SWEATER BOOK. A (literal) message from God sent me back to work. The next time I retired because I did not know how to (reasonably) handle high maintenance clients and friends who demanded that I work for free--I found it easier to just quit working. This last time I quit working it was because I was just plain burnt out. THE SWEATER BOOK had been published and no one bought it; I couldn't seem to get people to hire me; and I was STILL doing photos for friends for free--and the high maintenance level was at an all time high. I heard the words spoken by the immortal Julie Andrews in the great American classic film VICTOR/VICTORIA: "I am very unhappy in the extreme and I don't have to be because I do have a choice..."

SO. I closed my business and I began rennovating our home, my psyche, my spirit, my body...all of it. These rennovations continue to this day...but during the last two years I learned so many lessons about life and about myself that I came out at the other end, a different person. I am not a Peaceful Warrior yet but I am, at least, on my way.

So I went back to work!!

I missed being behind the camera. I missed being a part of my 'true calling'. And I ran out of money. So I re-opened my business. But I discovered something interesting. While I was gone, headshots changed! The industry is mercurial, at best, but this was a big-ass change! Colour headshots are the deal now and people are being allowed to have photos that TRULY reflect their personalities! It is more portraiture than calling cards. Well. That thrilled me! A chance to start over, an opportunity grow as an artist--it felt like I was 18 again and the whole experience lay ahead, waiting to be discovered.

Every shoot I have had this summer, while retraining myself to be a photographer for THIS age, while retraining myself to be a better businessman and to handle the difficult clients, has been heavenly. Not one bad experience, so far. The new, artistic colour shots are thrilling to create and the new approach to shoots and personal relationships between friends/clients have been one joyous ride after another. I am, so, looking forward to each new day, every new client, all the upcoming chances to create new, great art and to offer service.

In PEACEFUL WARRIOR, Socrates says there is no greater calling than a life of service. I am so grateful for having learned that lesson. This is what I do. I offer a service. Whether I am a photographer, a friend, a host, a room mate...whatever it is that I do on this planet, I live a life of service.

No greater calling.

ps. yes, i shot every single picture seen in this piece. if you are in casting and would like the name of one of the actors, please drop me a line.

Kates The Greats

I work from home. All the work that I do, I do from home--which can be a luxury or a curse. I can work in my underwear, all day, if I want to; all the while, listening to my music or watching television. Of course, I am also in a place where people can find me, easily; I also can fall prey to the habit of getting caught up in the movies and not getting any work done. It is a delicate balance, one which I have (slightly!) mastered.

The tv watching thing, though, that's one of the good things. I have a desk in each room--I do, truly, and I move from room to room, from desk to desk, and the television is on while I do this; and these days it is on Turner Classic Movies almost all the time. I love this station. I love the movies, the commercial free movies, the old movie stars and I love Bob Osborne (Pat and I LOVE Bob Osborne!). I especially love when they dedicate an entire day to one star. This last week there was Claire Trevor day, Jane Powell day--today was Rock Hudson day and the 19th is Audrey Hepburn day. Yesterday was Katharine Hepburn day.

Everyone knows that she was my favourite actress, right? I have the movies, I watch the movies--two of her pictures are listed on my top five favourites list. I have the books about her. I read the books aobut her. And the books by her. She was, simply, just my favourite.

I am not writing a story about Katharine Hepburn. Not really. What I want to do today is re-print an old story that I wrote on my livejournal blog years ago. It's about seeing Hepburn live. I never saw Hepburn live. Heartbreaking. But I saw Kate Mulgrew play her and it was like seeing her live. It was shocking. I saw her in TEA AT FIVE once in Hartford and four times in New York. I've never forgotten it. I know she has been touring with it--but now it is on the road with Stephanie Zimbalist. I likes Stephanie Zimbalist. Perhaps, if the show is somewhere near where I am, I will go see it.

So what we have here is an OLD story about my ladies, about Hepburn, about Mulgrew, about The Sweater Book. It's a smorgasbord, brought on by TCM.

If you haven't found this channel, by the way, do.

19th February, 2002. 6:46 am.

TEA AT FIVE AT FOUR A.M.

On an average Saturday I can be found feverishly cleaning my house. Sometimes I might be spotted at the Stiles produce market choosing fresh fruits and vegetables for the week. Perhaps a person could catch me shopping for household goods or photography supplies. There might, even, be the rare occasion that I can be found doing a photo shoot, unlikely though that is. One may, even, catch a glimpse of me taking in a matinee of a Broadway play or a movie that everyone else has seen but me. It is, though, an extremely rare event that would give a person cause to see me departing the city with the hordes of human beings headed to some other state while bitterly complaining that they need to get out of the city. Not one to mince words, repressing the uncompromising thoughts and opinions which spill forth from my mind on an unfailingly regular basis, it has been overheard and printed on many occasions that I am one of those people who, truly, loves New York City. Few people can claim to have heard me say anything about Manhattan other than that this is the place I wish to be, for now and for all time.

However, one of the chief joys of living in New York City is that it does afford one the opportunity to see things that one would, otherwise, never have an opportunity to see. Other states and cities, nature, people, architecture, events; all of these things are a train ride, a bus trip, a drive away. In my home state of Texas, if you drive for a day (in almost any direction) you will still be in Texas. You can, actually, pass through as many as three or four states, depending on the direction in which you were headed when you left Manhattan. It is all there, waiting for you--all you have to do is go get it.

The items listed above are ones for which I have an interest, even a passion. That for which I have the most passion is theater and the people who create it.

Whether working or conversing, one of my favourite questions to ask people is "who is your favourite actor?" (sometimes I say movie star instead of actor, it can bring a radically different answer--but for me the revealing answers come when you ask about actors). The excitement and passion exhibited by people discussing their favourite performers thrills me because I am happy to see that I am not the only one who does this. Consider the change that comes over Trisha Dos when Patrick Wilson's name is dropped. Hear the velvety tones of devotion in Michael Raymen's voice regarding the subject of Miss Jane Fonda. See Chad Oliverson's pride when he declares that Judi Dench belonged to him before the rest of the world--I understand this claim because Pat and I make it as well. We and Chad belong to those lucky souls who knew the great dame before the days of MRS BROWN, before her talent was the shared joy of the entire universe and was, instead, a secret treasure shared by the inhabitants of a European Isle and some astute Americans who paid attention when watching PBS or the odd arthouse film. Even Pat Dwyer will warn people when he senses that they will defame the talent of Albert Finney and a friendship with Brady Schwind can be made or broken by the wrong words connected to the subject of Nicole Kidman or Moulin Rouge.

As for myself, readers of my writing know that not a harsh word may be spoken of Kathleen Turner and they know the reason why I maintain this policy in my home. Aside from Miss Turner, though, there are and there have always been my ladies.

The question of devotion to certain performers is not unique to the people who are asked to answer my question concerning favourites. I have always had my own and they are always women. Naturally I have my favourite actors. Since the early eighties I have maintained that my favourite actors are Stephen Collins and John Heard. In the Early nineties the number three spot was filled by Adrian Pasdar, for reasons surpassing his ineffable talent. The spots on my top ten list are mercurial once the number four is reached but that is of no consequence, as the major portion of my ardour is concentrated on the ladies. This is not a behavioural pattern which is unique to me, either. Please note the reaction that most gay men have to their own, personal divas. Observe the change which overcomes your gay friends upon the utterance of certain words--words like Patti LuPone. Bette Midler. Liza Minnelli. Barbra Streisand and for some whom I consider poor unfortunate souls, there is Brittney Spears.

In, extremely, interesting circles you can observe frenzy connected to words like Carmen McRae, Nancy Wilson, Rosemary Clooney and Miss Peggy Lee. Pat's diva is a woman whose talent is known, but not widely; this does not stop his dedication to Mimi Hines. His actresses are working actresses--their names are known but mostly in the business; they have achieved fame and, yet, remain obscure in some circles. The extremely well known and oft working Blythe Danner, the award winning Carole Shelly, his dearly departed Bibi Besch. All gay men have their ladies. It can be analyzed to death but I am sure that it has something to do with our mothers. Or perhaps it has something to do with the way that we relate to women. At four o clock in the morning I am not willing to explore the issue. I believe that, for myself, it has to do with my mother and her mother. The powerful women who raised me taught me where women belong and it is on a pedestal.

My pedestal is big enough to hold many many women and not the ones you think. Oh, sure, some of the standards are there. My friends have heard me talk about my ladies My close friends can name some of them. My best friends can tell you the most important ones. When a newcomer stands in my living room and asks, "who is this in this picture with you?"--it could be anyone but Michael Raymen can tell you that this one is Leann Hunley. Michael Babel can name Donna Murphy. Anyone who reads the Arts and Leisure section has seen the face of that English woman and, though they don't all know her name, they remember to say "oh, it's the dame?"

I have been fortunate enough to be able to categorize my ladies so that no one would ever get their feelings hurt. My favourite television actress is Leann Hunley; a woman who, I have always maintained, belongs on the big screen. My favourite actresses no longer living on our planet are Lee Remick, Audrey Hepburn, Barbara Stanwyck, Anita Morris and Alexis Smith. My favourite diva bitch goddess is Stephanie Beacham. My favourite actress who appears to be retired is Madolyn Smith Osborne. There is a category without words for Donna Murphy. She is the one who is so special to me that I cannot classify it. So I give her the most important label of all. She is my New York leading lady and she is my friend. She is one of the artists and one of the people who feeds me my self esteem when I cannot find it for myself. She defies description.

There are categories for all of them, for there are so many. There are Jodie Foster, Susan Sarandon, Emma Thompson. There's Catherine Hicks and Judy Parfitt. There are women for whom I will exhibit the greatest ardour and each of them falls into their own, special category. Stockard, Swoosie, Blythe, Sela. Misses Ruehl and Kalember. There are the singing ladies like LaMott, Reddy, Bassey and Brightman. There are the stage and screen ladies that I call my girlfriends, whose work I champion and whose success makes me cry, like ladies named Mason, Egan and Krakowski. Ladies like Cherry Jones and Miss Carole Shelly.

My list is expansive and my admiration, unending.

Once, I had an opportunity to work with an actress whose work I had championed from the first time I saw her. She worked, steadily, yet had not achieved the fame which I felt she deserved. When I met her on that day when I was to photograph her, I had the great joy of, actually, saying to her "I am an ardent admirer of your work. Her reply? A big, satisfied grin and a coy and playful "Really? I'm an ardent admirer of your vocabulary."

She won her Academy Award last year and I cried for Marcia Gay Harden. One of the great pleasures of my job is getting to tell these people what they have meant to me.

One of the first times that I got to do this was years ago in Texas when I got to write the fan letter to end all fan letters to the woman that I have claimed as my own favourite actress. I hate being on the band wagon and while the rest of the world falls in love with the latest actress to appear on the cover of PEOPLE, US and ENTERTAINMENT WEEKLY, I wait for a performance that makes me sit forward in my seat and, when I find it, I claim that person for my pedestal. It happened in the eighties and, on that day, I chose Judith Ivey and called her my favourite. We have met several times and, actually, worked together. Each time we are together I cannot find the words and I end up having to tell her what she does for me in a letter. At the closing night party of the revival of FOLLIES, I told Judy that I had worked with the biggest names, the greatest artists, the most famous people --and that SHE was the only one who made me tongue tied. She laughed and blushed and told me there was no need for that. We will see what happens the next time our paths cross.

There is, though, this one lady. I never talk about her. There is no reason to. I do not claim her for myself for she belongs to the world. She is everyone's favourite and even the greatest name her as the greatest. So she remains in my heart but on none of my lists because it is absurd to try to begin to discuss all that she has meant to so many of us. If you walk into my home there is a tiny corner of the mantle dedicated to her. It is so quiet a display that people rarely notice it among all of the flashier visions in my living space. It is a stack of about ten books, ranging in size from paperback to oversized coffee table. On top of the stack is a photo of me in Switzerland at seventeen, my favourite, really. Also on the stack but further down is a small gilt frame of Mary Margaret Pyeatt playing a character created by this woman. The character is one that is featured in one of my favourite plays and one of my favourite movies. On the wall above the entire pile of books and photos is a framed letter from the actress--it was sent to me by way of saying thanks. Some years back I was visiting my friends Ricky and Willie Smithline in their country home in Monticello New York. Before leaving the country, I walked through the field that was outside their back door and spent half an hour gathering a large bouquet of the flower called Queen Anne Lace. I carried this bouquet back to New York City, where I placed it in a simple glass vase and rode in a taxi to a brownstone on East forty ninth street. There, I rang the bell and left the flowers and my note of thanks for all that she has given to the world and to me. Three days later, I received a thank you note in my mailbox. As I opened it, as I saw the scratchy, scrawly signature, as I saw the embossement at the top of the page, my hand began to shake. I'd had no thought of a thank you note, I only wanted to tell her I loved her. My friend, Paul Tigue, pointed out that she is such a preppie, of course she writes thank you notes. It was in a frame and hanging on the wall by the end of the day. It is one of my favourite things. If you ask my best friends to tell you my favourite five movies, two of them are hers.

The Philadelphia Story and The Lion in Winter.

So is it Katharine Hepburn that made me leave New York City? Is that what this epic has been about? Yes it is. Did I go to see Katharine Hepburn in Hartford Connecticut? Yes I did. No I didn't. Yes I did. It is a, rather, ambiguous answer, is it not?

Pat is a Science Fiction geek. It is not a label of which he is a fan. He prefers to say that he is an aficionado. He thinks that because he does not attend conventions or own a Starfleet uniform, he is not a sci fi geek. I am and have been sorry to disappoint him over the years. In as much as I own my status as a musical theater queen, he must learn to own his as a sci fi geek. Years ago, he was excited to read that there was a new Star Trek coming to television. It would feature the first female captain of a starship and the captain was to be Lindsay Wagner. An interesting choice, we both thought and, frankly, one which we championed. We grew up with Jamie Somers, the bionic woman. We like Lindsay Wagner very much and would watch the show.

She didn't do it.

Genevieve Bujold, the French actress whom I had loved in ANNE OF A THOUSAND DAYS and SWASHBUCKLER was signed to do the show. Well that was an even MORE interesting choice. I really liked her and would, actually, watch the show, now!

She quit after one day of filming.

She was replaced by an actress named Kate Mulgrew.

creams from the Mosher Dwyer household. Not only was Kate Mulgrew one of my ladies, she was one of Pat's Another actress who had never achieved the fame and success which we wished, no, demanded for her. She had been a steadily working actor, an actor's actor, for many years. Beloved by soap fans for RYAN'S HOPE, revered by cult fans of the show KATE COLUMBO; she had turned in fun and fascinating performances in THROW MAMA FROM THE TRAIN and REMO WILLIAMS. She was beautiful and talented and fascinating and we had never had enough of her. We would be there, glued to the tv set, when STAR TREK: VOYAGER aired.

The show was marvelous and Pat was beside himself with joy. The cast was talented and pretty and we were hooked, immediately. There was just one thing, though, that ran through our minds and at, almost, the exact same moment we both said it out loud.

"She needs to play Katharine Hepburn, like, NOW.

"The austere, upswept hairdo, the wonderfully rich and slightly gravely voice, the high cheek bones and piercing eyes. She was the one and only actress either of us had ever seen that we thought could play Katharine Hepburn. We would watch and wait.

We did, too. We watched VOYAGER for eight years. We were devotees of the show. We worked our asses off to get a chance to work with some of their cast members during the creation of The Sweater Book. We were intent on working our way up to Kate Mulgrew.

The Sweater Book was created by the famous six degrees of separation theory. We WOULD get a shoot with Kate Mulgrew.We never even had to ask. We were working with Ethan Phillips, the great New York actor who was under all the latex that made Neelix, the adorable Talaxian (Oh I hope that is the right race, I cannot remember--not a trekkie!) on VOYAGER. We had a marvelous hour and a half with Ethan at his home in California and we took fun and loving photos of he and his dogs. He must have had a good time because he asked if we would like for him to speak with Kate Mulgrew about the book. I think we both went hysterically deaf for at least two minutes. Then we said yes, please.

On out next trip to Hollywood, Ethan Phillips made good on his offer of help and we were given a drive on pass to Paramount Studios, the old work place of my beloved grandmother. We would be there several times during the six years of that project, we would shoot many lovely and talented people but this one would be a day to remember. We were going on set to see the filming of the season premiere and to photograph Kathryn Janeway herself.

It was our last day in Hollywood. It had been a whirlwind trip and we were headed home. The shoot was set for twelve noon and our flight at four. We were running late and I had lost my eyeglasses and was in a terror that the pictures would be a bust. When we drove up to the gate, the guard found our name on the list immediately and directed us to the parking lot in which we were to stop our car for the next hour or so. Having been there before to work with Armin Shimmerman on the set of STAR TREK DEEP SPACE NINE, Pat knew where he was headed and, so I leaped from the car with all my equipment and headed to the soundstage while he parked. When I arrived, it was a flurry of activity as I passed Robert Beltran cutting up with other cast members; I cannot really remember who because I was so engaged by Mr Beltran's energy and beauty--however, in my mind I am positive that it was Robert Duncan McNeil and Tim Russ with whom he was joking around. I believe it was an assistant who showed me to Miss Mulgrew's trailer, though I am not sure whether it was a personal assistant of a production assistant. I do remember that she was very nice and very soothing; and I needed soothing. It is one thing to work with someone famous in their home and quite another to work with them at the studio. There are too many elements, too many people to whom one must answer, too many things that can go wrong. In the cast of the STAR TREK series, it was doubly true. We knew this from our shoot with Armin.

Armin had wanted to photographed for the book in his costume and makeup and on set. The powers that be at STAR TREK had granted permission for Armin to be photographed on set but no costume and no makeup. We were to work with Ms. Mulgrew in between scenes, she would be in costume and make up, would that create a problem? The answer was a simple one. The answer was the waiting game.

We were introduced to Kate Mulgrew outside her tailer. We were invited in and the things that remain in my fragmented memory are as follows: she was warm and inviting, though preoccupied for there was, clearly, a lot happening in her day. The television in the trailer was on and there were children's drawings in the room I remember wondering if they were drawings from her children or from fans--the answer was never revealed to me. In between brief chats with me about the way things would transpire, she had to take phone calls and talk to production people. She was very pretty and very fit but there was dirt on her face. I was disappointed. Would I be photographing one of Hollywood's beauties and one of my ladies with dirt on her face? I had already had to photograph Kathleen Turner without her trademark tresses, the universe could NOT do this to me, now. That was it. The meeting was over. She had to go to work and she would look forward to seeing us onset, when we would be afforded a few minutes between takes.

I had gotten used to the fast pace of Hollywood and I had done any number of photo shoots during which I waited for as many as four hours before spending twenty seconds taking pictures. On those days, though, I had the luxury of my eyeglasses and my own lighting equipment. On this day, I would be standing and watching the filming and when they said GO! I would run onset, get the shot and go.

It is no great complaint to stand around for a long time and watch a major television show get made. It is no great complaint to see how the special effects must be accounted for and what the actors must do make up for weapon fire that is not there and explosions which will be added later. It is no great complaint to see how famous people can be silly and playful when the camera is not rolling and to be reminded that they are just like us in their real life personalities, for the most part.

We stood around watching it all happen, trying to gain some kind of knowledge about the storyline so that we would be one step ahead of the other fans. I watched and waited, patiently, my sweater over my arm and my camera around my neck. After a long while, I wandered toward the craft service table and there I found my friend, Ethan Phillips, who was not scheduled to work but who had come in for fun. We stood there, catching up, visiting, telling stories, laughing?

"STEPHEN MOSHER!!!!!!!!!!"

"Yes?!"

"You're up!"

I ran up onto the bridge of the Starship Voyager, placed the sweater into the hands of her captain, watched her put it on and get comfortable in her chair. I said the briefest of prayers. The light on the stage was not bright enough for the film with which I was shooting. It was also not bright enough for me to see what I was doing without my glasses. God had protected me in the past and God would protect me now. I only needed one good shot.

I started working.

"What is the significance of the sweater?" she asked. She was rested her lovely chin on her hand and gazing up into the camera. She gave me her complete attention and, as we spoke back and forth I did my best to get something that would honour her well. True to form, twenty seconds passed and a voice boomed "We're ready to go again!" My time was up. With the most gracious of smiles the lady returned to me my sweater and bid me a warm and genuine farewell. I did think that I could love her any more than I did at that moment.

I do at this moment. I have for every moment that has passed since the curtain call of her one woman show TEA AT FIVE, in which my dream, Pat's dream, OUR dream of seeing Kate Mulgrew play Katharine Hepburn, came true.

When I read about it, I felt like I was smart for recognizing that she should play Hepburn. When I read that the show was playing in Hartford, I called Pat, immediately. Ten minutes later he had our tickets reserved. We would have to wait a few weeks and the train ride to Hartford would cost more money than the tickets to the play. It would be a day long excursion on the weekend to see a matinee that would, no doubt, be overrun with old blue haired people. It would be two of our ladies at the same time. We were ready and we began to count down the days.

One person shows can be problematic. If they are a biographical show about someone extremely famous, they can be devastating. THE BELLE OF AMHERST was a lucky event; TRU was a happening. Consider, though, MARLENE. The two act tribute to Ms Dietrich was expertly performed by Sian Phillips, one of England's finest actresses. The scrip by Pam Gems was implausible and boring. Even a gifted director like Sean Mathias could not disguise the slow script by guiding his leading lady to a Tony nominated performance. There are stacks of one person shows based on the lives of famous people and I do not know why. Is it because a playwrite is so fascinated by that person that they are compelled to create something as a tribute? Or are they just bored and lacking in original ideas? Do performers decide that they love their idol so much that they must learn to imitate them and commission a work to showcase their talent? There are impersonators and impressionists, many of them simply abysmal, who work in cabaret venues impersonating people like Carol Channing, Liza Minnelli, Judy Garland and Barbra Streisand. Could this be more boring?

One of New York's great impersonators is Steven Brinberg, whose show SIMPLY BARBRA is not a copying of Ms Streisand but a separate entity. He does not tell her jokes, he makes his own. He has created a truly original act. Also as original are all of the James Beaman shows. He manages to give the illusion that you are watching Marlene Dietrich at thirty, Marlene Dietrich at fifty and Lauren Bacall at an age best unnamed. These are gifted performers who entertain and reel in fans en masse. How, though, does a person play Katharine Hepburn without becoming a charicature?

It is done with dignity and respect. It is done with love and honour. It is done to perfection at Hartford Stage and I pray that it will either tour the country of end up in New York where many more people can see it.

AT FIVE is a respectful telling of two fictional afternoons in Katharine Hepburn's life. Matthew Lombardo had done his research in an impeccable effort to create an honest and realistic dialogue shared with the audience. His facts are straight and, even when he has to change some things for dramatic impetus, the changes are so effective that someone who knows, really knows, the truth of the story, doesn't really care. I am not a person who becomes so obsessed with someone that I read everything about them. I have not read all the books that I own about Katharine Hepburn--but I have read enough to know that a sentence that is, in the play, attributed to Spencer Tracy, was really uttered by Garson Kanin. I know the actual name of the musical Stephen Sondheim was writing when Hepburn pressed her nose to his living room window and I know the real year that Warren Beatty was sending her flowers every day to get her to do the movie LOVE AFFAIR. The point is that knowing these things makes me appreciate his changes all the more because the changes have made the play a better piece of theater. The monologue he has written has taken sentences he has created in the exact speech patterns of Kate the great and added them to quotes from her books, her interviews and Hollywood history. He has, with this piece, earned my love and respect. I hope that I will, one day, meet him and thank him face to face.

The sets are scary. Not scary the way you think. They are scary in their accuracy. If you are a fan of the lady, if you own or have seen the book THE PRIVATE WORLD OF KATHARINE HEPBURN, you have seen the set at the Hartford Stage. The knick knacks, the carved wooden duck, the white shag carpet, the sofa, the blanket thereon, the pillow on top? Every item has been carefully made or crafted to make this room the most authentic representation of Miss Hepburn's home, as possible. The costumes are extraordinary in their simplicity and in their accuracy. The white terry cloth robe, the black one-piece swimsuit, the pantsuit that, perfectly, captures the Hepburn style as seen in THE PHILADELPHIA STORY. The Act Two costume which I can show you in my books, for she really wore this exact outfit! Down to the exact colour of Spencer's sweater, they got it right. The wigs are not only beautiful, they are spot on perfect with their accuracy. I don't know what a director has to do to make something so perfect but John Tillinger did it. I hope he knows it.

I tell you this is a perfect production. I could not and would not change one single thing. Well, maybe there is ONE thing.

There is a moment when Katharine Hepburn addresses the subject of the shaking of her head. She confesses that it is NOT parkinsons, that is a familial trait and that a little whiskey stops the shaking. She tells this as she pours whiskey into her tea cup. My closest friends know what Katharine Hepburn's other passionate indulgence was because each time I throw a party I make Katharine Hepburn brownies. I am, regularly, asked to bake these by many people. It is a recipe that was included in an interview in a book I once owned but have lost. The story in the interview was that Katharine Hepburn baked brownies every Wednesday and filled her home with bowls of brownies in every room. She has said that what she is is the result of a pound of chocolate every day (every week? I cannot remember the exact quote.) I would have loved to see a bowl of brownies on the coffee table of the set. Making those brownies and telling people the story behind them and the recipe is one of my proudest moments. I feel like, in some small way, I am helping to perpetuate a tradition.

Of course none of this experience of which I speak would be possible, were it not for the presence, the talent, the bolting revelation that is Kate Mulgrew. No revelation to me, though, for I knew she could do it. She is at home in the skin of the great Kate Hepburn, as she would be in her own living room, her own kitchen. I have watched Katharine Hepburn's movies over and over. I know her speech patterns, I know the may she moves. I know how she walks, stands, sits, lounges. I know what her tastes in clothing were like, I know the exact way her mouth sits on her face and the level of the shaking of her head. I know how she crosses her legs and props her hands behind her head. I am not an expert on the woman; I have not studied her closely enough to be called an expert. Yet I am an expert because, as a photographer, I have noted and memorized everything about her.

There is no Kate Mulgrew for one hour and fifty minutes, at the Hartford Stage. There is only Kate Hepburn. It is the most shockingly accurate portrayal of another person that I have every seen. Robert Morse in TRU. Judy Davis in MY AND MY SHADOWS. Kate Mulgrew in TEA AT FIVE. These performances are those once in a lifetime things that people never forget. It was, for me, like the first time I saw Jim Bailey perform. I had never seen Judy Garland live; I had seen the movies and nothing more. It was like, finally, being able to see Judy. Well I have never seen Hepburn live. Now, I have. What makes it better, though, is that I have seen two of my favourite actresses live, now. They fed each other and made each other and the experience possible. I spent most of act one laughing because it is just that funny and witty. People of this day and age don't get to talk that way anymore. Hepburn did and it is a pleasure to listen to her talk about her family, her career, her heartache, lovers, friends and work with such candor and biting wit. Act two, though, was about tears. Tears for the woman I love who is so old that I am reminded she will soon be gone; tears for the fact that I got to be with her for those two hours. Tears for the woman I have loved for her work and her struggle for success; tears for the success she has achieved and her determination to strive for more, rather than rest on her laurels. Tears for the stories Kate Hepburn told me and tears for the talent Kate Mulgrew shared with me.

This day was a once in a lifetime event for me. My friend, David, calls me reactionary because I get crazy and excited about almost everything that I see. Anyone who has heard me talk about CAPEMAN or BAT BOY knows that that is not true. However, I DO go a little overboard when I have seen something that has moved me. The unfortunate reviews for the FOLLIES revival did not change my opinion of it. The opening number of THE LION KING remains the most profound eight minutes I have had in a theater. The last moments of AMY'S VIEW, THE HEIRESS, INDISCRETIONS, AN INSPECTOR CALLS and CABARET still make me cry in my mind. There are productions and performances which will stay with me always. There is a special room in my heart where TEA AT FIVE will live. In that room in my heart, in the room in my mind, Kate Mulgrew and Kate Hepburn will forever raise their arms, as they do twice in the play and say "WHAT FUN!"

What fun.

What fun.

Over and over, for rest of my life, I will think of those people responsible for that day and say?

What fun.

PS. Yes, she did the shoot for The Sweater Book with the dirty face and yes, many of the pictures are out of focus because I could not see. Finally, yes we did get one that would do and, happily, it is the best of the batch. One of my proudest, one of my most exciting, one of my favourite moments within my career. Thank Ethan Phillips and thank you Kate Mulgrew. I will treasure you always.

please note that the only photo i took in this piece is the photo of Kate Mulgrew from The Sweater Book.

Go See Fay Wray In The Palm Of An Ape

Everybody has a hobby. Don't they? I mean, really, doesn't everyone have a hobby? Some people collect stamps, others coins...Rose Marie collect commemorative plates from GONE WITH THE WIND and Corbin Bernsen collects snow globes. My friend Mark DeLabarre goes to movies. No, really; he sees more films than anyone I have ever known. There are people for whom health and fitness is a hobby (for me it is life..) and there are those whose hobby is drinking and drinking as much as they can and losing consciousness. It's a personal thing, a hobby.

Speaking for myself, it has been joked about (by me and by others) that my hobby is making lists. I have also said, with great earnestness, that my hobby is collecting honey. I do, in fact, have a nice collection of various honeys from different places--the collection is continually growing and even though I do not eat honey (that often! too much sugar, too many carbs), I love my honey collection and I love the odd occasion when I get to have a teaspoon of honey and see the difference in the tastes of the various honey from various countries.

I really don't think I had a hobby for the last several years. My life was about work; housework, office work, photography work, gym work and the work (dichotomous though this is going to sound) of being a friend. Our home has been the hub for our friends' for awhile and I love my friends and I love bringing people together but being the social director CAN, in fact, be work. I do like walking around the city, going to the theater and to movies but I don't know if those are really hobbies. I guess the closest I have, really, come to having a hobby is my vhs/dvd collection, for which Pat and I have become all but famous.

A recent discovery of the extreme pleasure I get from an old hobby has completely rekindled my passion for it and, hence, the hobby itself. So, now, when people ask if I have a hobby, I can reply:

"I collect movie posters."

There was a time when we had apartments (in Dallas where the places are huge and the rent, cheap) that had so much wall space that we could showcase our posters. Our New York home is a typical apartment for this city--small ish and with restrictions. The displaying of large size posters is more than a little difficult, so for years we have just kept them in storage. The same poster has hung in the living room for YEARS. It is an advance poster for LORD OF THE ; FELLOWSHIP OF THE RINGS. It is collectible and it cost me some money and the framing of it cost me SOME MONEY. So once it was hung up there, it had to stay for some time. Besides. we really love those movies and that poster. So , for years, it has been the centerpiece of our home.

With this renewed interest in my old hobby, though, times they are a changin. We have decided to change out the posters in our home every few weeks. That means I get the pleasure of going through my collection and choosing something new to showcase, having it framed, trading them out and seeing the reactions people have to the new artwork! I am very excited about it. In fact, I have been online, bidding on new works for the collection. Getting a new poster is fun but the real thrill is getting a bargain. I recently acquired a couple of posters for ninety nine cents! And when you find something vintage and bid on it and get it for a great price!! OY!. I bought a very good condition poster from the musical flop GOODBYE MR CHIPS and a collection of lobby cards that go with it. I spent fifteen dollars. THAT is a bargain!! It was important, too, becasue there are two songs from that musical that feature, prominently, into Pat's and my relationship (You and I, Walk Through The World With Me). I am having fun. A lot of fun. It's nice to have a hobby again. It's nice to not spend all day, every day, working.

Taking down the FRODO poster, though--it was rough. It actually hurt me. I felt physical pain when I took that poster down. I may have to put it back up for a week every month!! I love having PEGGY SUE in its place, though. An avid Kathleen Turner fan, I am (especially) fond of PEGGY SUE GOT MARRIED. The other poster currently hanging in the living room (by the way, under redecoration) is MAURICE--one of the best movies, best love stories, best gay themed movies and a movie that is very special to Pat and I.

Our kitchen is also being re-done so there is nothing on the walls in there. But the Room Of Hell has been, recently, re-named THE HAPPY ROOM. It is a happy room again. The man who lived there for the last year is gone and I have re-decorated it, filing the walls with photos of loved ones, favourite movie stars, memories, my own artwork and posters from some of our favourite movies--not to mention (just plain old) some of my favourite movie poster artwork. And up in the loft we have filled the space with dolls, children's literature, colouring books, a box of 64 Crayola crayons and my Sidney Sheldon novels and favourite paperbacks. It's a wild and eclectic collection but it all makes me happy!! Sometimes I crawl up and bank up the nine pillows and lie there and read Winnie The Pooh!! With the background of MOULIN ROUGE (sigh!!), BUGSY (one of my all time favs--and you have to love the phrase on the poster "Glamour was the Disguise"), JULIA (it is my ambition to own a movie poster from every Jane Fonda picture) and THE INCREDIBLES (does this need commentary? It's THE INCREDIBLES!!), it is a happy room.

These days, this is a happy house. I am a happy man and Pat and I are a happy couple. And you know what else?

Collecting movie posters is a happy hobby.

More Luminous Than The Tiffany Diamond

A recent story that I wrote led to a bit of light debate between myself and one of my closest (I say 'one of' but the fact is that she and Marci are my longest-termest-closest-tell anything to girlfriends) galpals. I made some remark about Natalie Portman being the (physical embodiment) of this generation's Audrey Hepburn. Natch, Lisa-Gabrielle, lept to her idol's defense; yes, she was THE Audrey Hepburn devote before the rest of the world jumped on that bandwagon. There was a tiny period of time in the 80s when the older folks remembered and revered the great Miss Hepburn but when, to the young folk, she was just that old lady who plugged for UNICEF. Now, everyone (young and old) recognizes Audrey for all her gifts. She is acknowledged by everyone living as a great actress, a great beauty, a great humanitarian, a great fashion icon; simply a great person to have passed our way. Lisa-Gabrielle was one of the young girls of the 80s who opted for this greatness rather than a passing obsession with some Material Girl. This trail blazer waved the Audrey Hepburn flag until the rest of the world picked it up and remains, quietly, the woman who paved the way. Now, she defends her idol to me because I compared her to someone who could never, ever, match her in any way. I understand Lisa's train of thought. After all, I refused to even consider Kelly Clarkson a serious ANYTHING once she referred to Paris Hilton as being this generation's Marilyn Monroe.

We MUST defend our idols and their thrones.

Audrey Hepburn is one of the many things that Lisa and I have in common. I love this woman as devotedly as many others do, including Lisa. Audrey is not, though, my only love. A gay man, I have (what people tend to refer to, for gay men) my divas. Pat simply calls them "Stephen's Ladies". I love that he has done that. I love that he has recognized my dedication to these artists who have left a mark on my life. I think I will have to do regular stories on "Stephen's Ladies". It would be a pleasure to share my love for them and, perhaps, tip (at least) one person to the magic of someone to whom they had, previously, not given much thought.

I doubt there is anyone who has not given thought to Audrey Hepburn. There is little I can say here that the world does not know about her, not to mention the websites you can find online about her or the books you can buy about her. For the benefit of the reader, though, I will provide the following information:

My Favourite Audrey Hpeburn Books (and to be found in my personal collection)

--Adieu Audrey: SO many photos!! Heavenly
--Audrey Style: Lots of photos, lots of text. About Audrey and about her effect on the world of fashion.
--Audrey A Intimate Collection By Bob Willoubhby: This one is unique and important because this man was (one of, if not THE) a favourite photographer of Audrey's and shot a lot of pics of her over the years. It's more than the photos and the stories--it's the history and what her devotion to him says about her.
--Audrey Hepburn An Elegant Spirit: Important because it was written by Audrey's son, Sean Ferrer. What a tribute. What great memories and personal photos and the proceeds go to the Audrey Hepburn Children's Fund.

As far as the websites go, I suggest anyone interested visit www.AudreyHepburn.com and if you do a google search on her you can find stacks of others and just spend a little time looking at them.

Audrey Hepburn. I still cry when I see the MOON RIVER scene in BREAKFAST AT TIFFANY'S. I still laugh with joy when she dances down the hall of Higgin's house, singing "I only know when he began to dance with me...." I see her on the tennis court, twirling in the Givenchy gown that she made famous (at the same time she made him FAMOUS) in SABRINA. I have favourite moments from ROMAN HOLIDAY, LOVE IN THE AFTERNOON, PARIS WHEN IT SIZZLES, WAIT UNTIL DARK and, especially, FUNNY FACE. When in Paris, I visited the Louvre and I stood on the steps in front of Winged Victory and wanted to shout "I don't want to stop! Take the picture! Take the picture!!" I believe I am the only person in the world who LOVES the film THEY ALL LAUGHED and I DO own a poster from the (awful) film BLOODLINE. In my daily life, I can be heard to say "...you must cross your heart and kiss your elbow..." and I even have Pat in the act. When getting dressed to go out, the first one who gets around to it says :
--"How do I look?"
--"Very good. I must say, I'm amazed."
--"You were a darling to help; I could never have done it without you."

Everyone has a favourite Audrey Hepburn movie. Everyone has a favourite Audrey Hepburn story. She has left a mark on all our lives. I think my favourite Audrey Hepburn story is the one that begins on page 228 of AUDREY STYLE and it is about Steven Meisel's experience shooting photos of Audrey for VANITY FAIR. It tells of how ALL the crew wore jackets and ties. Audrey arrived alone, no entourage. For lunch she requested.......a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. The story is GLORIOUS and deserves to be read. If you don't own the book; get one. If you are too poor; go to the store and read it and put it back.

One of my favourite moments in my LIFE and which I have never ever forgotten: for 20 years Pat and I have taken turns showing each other movies that we love but that the other has never seen. As a teenager, I fell in love with ROBIN AND MARIAN. During (I think ) our first (MAYBE our second) year together, I sat Pat down to show him the continuing story of Robin Hood and Maid Marian and there came a moment when Audrey Hepburn, kneeling by a river and washing, turned to look up at Sean Connery and said (in what is maybe the most honest moment I have ever seen on film) "Am I old and ugly?"

And Pat sighed so big that the word "ooh!" came out of his mouth, involuntarily. He echoed what was in my mind, indeed, what had happened to me the first time I saw the movie.

Everyone has a favourite Audrey. Sabrina Fairchild, Eliza Doolittle, Jo Stockton, Holy Golightly, Regina Lampert, Princess Ann, Ariane Chavasse, Nicole Bonnet...Everyone has a favourite Audrey era. It is as different and as personal a choice as what is your favourite colour of jelly bean?

Everyone has a favourite Audrey photo, a favourite Audrey look. I went online to get the photos I have included in this story and I will wrap up by saying, as a photographer that my favourite Audrey is not the glamour queen (though she was a GREAT glamour queen!). My favourite Audrey has to be the simple one, the one without trappings and 'stuff'. Note the photo of her sitting in a car--which I, once, saw in a gallery for sale for close to a thousand dollars! Sigh I wanted it. Ah, well...

How about the gorgeousness of her Maid Marian or the life she exudes on the bike. The stylish girl in the green suit or the eye of the hurrican, Holly Golightly? Or just that close up of her face? They are all my Audrey, the one I love--but I think my favourite is, simly, the one smiling up into the camera. She did it with such ease.

That is, smiling AND causing us to smile.