This Romeo and Juliet

Working on a play is sometimes boring, sometimes exciting and other times evocative of every emotion you can conjure. And sometimes it's full of emotion you're having a difficult time conjuring. But whatever it is, theatre is a collection of people in the same boat.

We're all theatre geeks and proud of it. While other kids were playing we were in plays. We know more than is strictly necessary toknow about the history of theatre, contume repair, beats, timing and the status of the play moment to moment.

But, iff you're lucky, you land in the company of a show that has a magic blend. A show in which everyone gets along. A show that will change the lives of actors, designers and audience alike. One that it worth it.

Romeo and Juliet is such a play. Intrepid Shakespeare company came on the scene at the perfect time. The Universe opened up and allowed a group of theatre professionals to fill a void. The void? Try voids. Accessable Shakespeare; a resident company in Encinitas; the right people at the right time and I could go on. The result is that magic is being done and, for however long it lasts, you need to get on this ride.

We are doing arguably Shakespeare's most famous play. Have you seen it? If you're a fan of theatre it is your responsibility so see as many R&Js as you can. It is to the credit of directors (and Intrepid Founders) Christy Yael and Sean Cox that they knew this going in. We all know we're going to be judged - placed among the last, the best, the worst, the oddest and the coolest Romeo and Juliet people have ever seen.

We are lucky in our situation (if not that America is unlucky in this) that a number of the audience will be seeing R&J and the work of William Shakespeare for the first time. This is because of one of those great moments in theatre...

Sean and Christy were at a city council meeting, met the mayor and the mayor made the relationship with San Dieguito Highschool happen. If you haven't been to a highschool in a while you sholuld just see San Dieguito. There is always something going on there. The administration understands well their relationship with and responsibility to the community in which they stand.

There are all manner of adult classes, recreation activities, a dance and a debate competition -- and this was just last Friday. It goes on all the time. Truly refreshing. Just like Intrepid, its relationship with the school and this Romeo and Juliet.

Leticia Walker Reed Meets Julian Triton

9. An excerpt from the diary of Julian Triton

This day and age represents so many unique opportunities to create!  In my time there was music (if you were a member of the church), theatre (if you did passion or mystery plays), writing (if you were a priest), and art (if you wished to illuminate religious texts).  No wonder they called it the dark ages!

Now the whole world is made of light and not the kind of light one in my condition must shun.  The process of sitting in a darkened movie house for the first time was, to say the least, an immensely emotional experience – and I hate showing emotion; emotion makes one soft and the soft are subjugated.  So imagine my pleasure at seeing a sunrise for the first time in – I don’t even know how long.  How great is Mr. Edison and his machine for broadcasting light even as I sit her in darkness.

This book, this pen and this ink, ill gotten as I can make them, will be my confessional.  I will trust my agent to deposit it in the safest bank in the New World.  Trust!  Well, I trust as I will.  Do I not also have a key?

The confessional!  As in all literature, the antagonist seeks out his own demise, and what am I if not antagonistic?  He stupidly leaves clues for the powers of good.  The better the villain, the more worthy the hero must be.  Well.  I state here now – for whoever is able to find the source, defeat the security and crack the code – thank you for being a worthy adversary.  Now, please do your best to protect yourself because my secret cannot be told unless one of us is destroyed.

The last time I tried this everyone but me was destroyed.  That and a scriptorium and the town in which it was built.  Oh, the intricacies of building a library for the greater good!

But enough of this babble!  I ask you; do you have the courage?  Or will you become one of thousands and thousands of victims I’ve left in my wake throughout the centuries?

The coding was not a problem, really.  What kind of a linguist would I be if I hadn’t lived all these years?  Language is what defines all civilization and the language of any land is the language of the victors.  I speak dozens of languages and am partial to Greek, as you must know.  I can hardly remember my native tongue.  Only certain words float back to me – usually in nightmares.  Mine was a tough upbringing and the language was as tough as the land and the people who boasted that they’d never been conquered.  So the language was as rudimentary and crude as the landscape and its people.

Much later in my education was I to realize that in order to truly conquer you must not only impose your will on people – you must also have a culture to impose upon them.  So I studied the great civilizations of the great conquerors; the art, culture and language of war.  But that was to come later.

“And now do you understand the key to this code?”

And with a rush of air, that Leticia realized was her own breath, she was awake and panting as the library, the sun, the books and the dangerous, beautiful man faded into the distance.  All that was left was the smell of the book.  That smell and that diary she still couldn’t read, even though she was on page four.

“Wait.  How did I get on page four?”

“Are you all right Miss Reed?

And for the second time in as many minutes, Leticia Walker Reed started.  It was the librarian who’d shown her the books on Spanish and Caltilian dictionaries.

“I’m terribly sorry.  I must have dozed off.”

“I thought so too but you were turning pages…”

“While asleep?”

“I assumed you were squinting.  It happens a lot here.”

“I.. ah… thank you.”

Leticia was feeling so many emotions that she couldn’t get them straight and she knew only one person to talk to.  In a manner of speaking.  She exited the San Francisco Public library and crossed the street to her hotel.

She rushed past a display in the library’s atrium celebrating the 50th anniversary of the Pony Express.  Had the mail service been in existence that day, Leticia Walker Reed would own a per centage of its debt.

Darling Emily Chapter Eight

8. The Dream

Letty was in familiar rooms in the library at the University.  She was regarded as someone who appreciated books more than people and the library staff, cut from the same cloth, left her alone.  The smells were so potent.  The books dust and sunlight.  Perfect!  A beautiful, sunny early fall day spent indoors amid the rustle of old paper and the unmistakable rhythm of the man reciting poetry. 

This was how she knew she was dreaming.  No one ever spoke much above a whisper at the school library and no one ever recited poetry.  Especially her own!  This was a secret she’d not even told Emily.  A poem about poetry and dreams beginning.

“We never remember dreams beginning and
Forgetting them
They never end.”

“That’s –” she said and then they were dancing.  Like you can be in dreams.

With the sunlight streaming in through thick-glassed windows.  Now a waltz of some kind at just above a whisper and a man breathing in her ear.

“I know.”

“You do?”

“Of course I do.  All the words are yours and, because I have a library card, they are mine too.”

“You’re a – ”

“Thief.  Yes.”

“I meant to say you’re a borrower.”

“No.  I’m a thief.”

“Will you steal my heart?”

“Yes, Darling Letty.  That and more.”

“Will you steal me away?”

“I believe the verse is sung thusly:
‘Away he came
With book and chain
And evil grin
He came again – ’”

“’To steal my heart’,” continued Leticia Walker Reed.

“’Which was his art’,” added the handsome stranger.

“’He took it all
Left me in thrall…’”

“Oh, continue, Darling Leticia.  The song is in your voice.”

She continued.

“’I took it in
My only sin
To hope he’d see
My chastity’”

Then he sang the next verse of the tone poem she’s told no one about.

“‘And take it still
As was his will
Devouring me
Deliciously’”

And they both whispered, they were dancing in a library after all, the final lines:

“‘And totally
And totally’”

But before she could ask the handsome, dangerous man in indeterminate age, the diary was in her hands as it can be in dreams, and, as in dreams she could understand it.

“Read,” he said.

Darling Emily, Chapter Seven

7. The Book

It was old.  It looked old.  The binding had once been a custom leather job.  It looked like books she’d ordered from Europe, books she’d seen in libraries in large cities.  Like books that were published for wealthy, literate men of property and influence.  The book looked, smelled and sounded old and rich.  The smell was a sweet, tangy, mossy musk.  It smelled of leather to be sure but there was something else there, the smells combined to form a word on the edge of her consciousness, an ancient word.  Feardeath?

The book sounded like the breath of an old, infirm man who had once been a promising athlete but now had fallen on hard times. Flipping pages was like chasing an old man down an alley in a rich European neighborhood.  All of these effects combined to produce a feeling that was not entirely pleasant and he most bothersome feature, by far, was the handwriting. 

If the smell and sound of the book made a dark promise, the writing kept it.  The letters were written in a purplish ink with what could only have been a quill.  The ink and quill were undoubtedly expensive.  As was the paper, the leather and the binding.

Leticia could not make out many words.  She was familiar with Spanish and Latin but this seemed to combine both on occasion and, at other times, there was another language entirely.  And all of it in that bold, strong, almost egotistical handwriting.  Most of the language was probably an older Spanish dialect.  It was infinitely frustrating because she was sure she would have to write to her Latin professor at the University and then order several books and wait weeks for them to arrive before she could find out anything other than the obvious fact that she was holding a diary.

The diary belonged to a man with grace and style, a man who knew exactly what he wanted to say and who had much to say.  The book was the size of a traveling preacher’s bible, approximately six inches wide, nine tall and four thick.  It could fit in the pocket of a frock coat that a preacher would wear but Leticia didn’t know how she knew this: the book had never belonged to a man of God.

After hours spent trancelike, looking at, listening to and smelling the book – it smelled if not alive then very recently dead – she rushed to her secretaire, opened it, tore out a page of stationary and fired off a letter to Professor Greenlese.  After addressing the letter and turning a few more pages furtively, Letty realized that it was well after midnight and she was tired.  She wanted to tell Emily absolutely everything but it would have to wait until tomorrow.  And then she was asleep.

Darling Emily, Chapter Six

6. After Dinner

Leticia Walker Reed retired to her room on the second floor of Waterwood on the top of the hill overlooking Walker’s Mill.  She actually scampered, she noted, so full was she with girlish enthusiasm.  Her creek-side room offered a view five miles downstream, past the cattle range, over the fields and down into a grove of trees that ran into Walker’s Mill.  The Mill used to grind all the grain from the many farms in Placer County.  The railroads changed the business of the town – that and the fact that every acre of land was owned by a Walker or a Reed and had been for fifty years.  The Walkers, who owned the mill and most of the land around it, gave the property on which Waterwood was built to the Reeds as a wedding present.  This was before the Walkers died, leaving the rest of it to their daughter and son in law.

Except for six seasons at University, Leticia had lived in this room her entire life.  Now that she had taken all the University of California could give her, a Bachelor of Arts degree in Language and a Master of Arts in English, Letty didn’t know what to do.  She knew what her fantasy was: to run off with a handsome, intriguing stranger who would totally devour her.  She hoped that she wouldn’t end up like Darling Emily, too weak and too smart to do anyone let alone herself any good.  She thought she might like to work in the family business but couldn’t really get excited enough about any of it. 

Then she decided that she needed to go incognito, to hide out between the musty pages of a well-written book.  This is what she had always done.  She was 12 or thereabouts before she realized she was rich.  Just after she stopped being Clementine and right after she saw how deferentially the townspeople treated her, her mother and father – and anyone named Walker or Reed the first time she rode to town in her mother’s Brougham. 

Leticia Walker Reed rarely went to town.  Tutors had come from San Francisco to teach James and her.  She was always the favorite, he always trouble maker.  After studies, James would run wild on the property, ride his pony or get someone to take him into town but Letty would retire.  Sink into the depths of leather and language.  All her books were brought by the tutors, many of whom never lasted more than a year.  Then, during her fourth or fifth year of studies, she asked a question Miss Olson couldn’t answer.

“Well.  I’ll have to go into town the next chance I get and order a book on the subject,” said Miss Olson in response to a question on American History.  The fact that there were books that would tell you all you wanted to know – and that you could just go to town and order them – was a turning point in Leticia’s life.  She determined, from that moment on, that she would learn everything there was to learn from every book she could get her hands on.

Then, after an informative ride into town with Miss Olson, and, after she learned exactly how much money for books she had at her disposal, Letty went a little wild on books.  Finally, her parents came to understand how much money was being spent on books – it was after Letty had discovered such things as catalogues and newspapers and libraries.  It was Uncle James who had the idea of putting Letty to work to earn her book allowance.  She did sums for the bookkeepers, filed correspondence, took notes and, finally, wrote all the correspondence for her father and uncle.  When she left for University, Abolphus and James Reed had to hire two secretaries to handle the workload.

The library in Walkers Mill is named after Leticia Walker Reed who insisted, just before she was accepted to the University of California, that the other children in her community have access to the books she did.  Every purchase Letty made from the catalogues at the general store held the twin thrills that of devouring it’s contents and that of giving of the knowledge to untold thousands of people after her.  Her mother taught her that books can live on after she grew out of them and her mother oversaw the building of “Letty’s Library after she went away to school.  Sometimes Letty ordered two of the same book, knowing well in advance that she wouldn’t be able to part with it when the time came.  All of her books – even the duplicates – reside in “Letty’s Library” now.  All except the large black-leather-bound journal she now held.

And what a book it was!

Darling Emily Chapter Five

5. Dinner

After an hour of discussing finances and reminding the men the difference between debit and credit, Leticia Walker Reed had had enough.

“That’s all well and good but tell me everything you can about the book!”

The story of the book held what Leticia Walker Reed could already fell was a good, even perfect promise.  Like any good story, it began from the point of innocence.  The book was a complete mystery. 

“Mr. Pinkerton couldn’t tell us anything.”  Mr. Pinkerton was a little joke between Leticia and her father.  Each detective that Pinkerton Security sent to the house seemed to be a copy of the next one.  Leticia just took to calling any detective Mr. Pinkerton.

“Where did it come from?  I mean it had to come from somewhere.”

“We got all the assets.  We literally took possession of all the money and everything in all the deposit boxes,” said Uncle James.

“Some of the items on deposit were from failed banks that Wells took over before we came in.  The book’s owner – or the person who rented the box at a small bank near Fisherman’s Wharf – had been dead for years.  Spaniard fella, I think, by the name of Archangelo.”

“Is it important, Father?”

“All we know is that it’s old,” said Abolphus.

“No one could place the age,” said James.  We only know that the book could be hundreds of years old.”

“And what do you want from me?”

“You studied languages.  We want to know if it’s anything important.”

“Father, do you just want me out of your hair while you take over the banking business in California?”

“No.  I want you to find out what you can and share the information with us.  We have a man at Pinkerton you can write to.”

“Really!?”

“Yes and you have to call him Anderson.”

“Not Pinkerton?”

“I don’t think he’ll get the joke, darling.”

“I’ll do what I can,” said Leticia trying to conceal the excitement she was feeling.  It was all she could to do to keep from running up to her room and tearing into the book.  “I might need to do some research.  I might need to go to San Francisco.”

“Write to Mr, Anderson for all your needs, Leticia,” said her mother.

“You can go to San Francisco if you need to.”

“Wowee!” said Leticia.

“Yep,” said Adolphus and James.

“Language,” said Isabella.

Back to Darling Emily: Chapter Four

4. Before Dinner

Letty and her mother busied themselves readying for dinner.  This meant managing a houseful of servants.  Waterwood housed the immediate A. Reed family, Uncle James and his invalid wife – who took all her meals in her room – and 12 servants.  Uncle James occupied the third floor, Isabelle and Adolphus the second and Letty and her brother lived on the first floor, which was also the nerve center for the many family businesses. The house could house an additional 25 guests easily and could entertain over 200.  It sat on 10 acres and was surrounded by Old Man Walker’s Orchards to the East and the senior Reed’s Cattle ranch to the South.  The north was a working farm with chickens, cattle, dairy and an assortment of grains and vegetables.

Adolphus and James Reed did a lot of talking on their rides.  Always had done.  There was something about a long, dusty ride on horseback that lubricated the mind and loosened the lips.  The entire Reed Central California Trust was hatched on one of their last trips back from the shining city of San Francisco to the small town they loved.  It was not uncommon for the family to hear the details of an incredible venture after the men returned from a long ride.  More and more, those ideas were influenced by the Reed women who always saved their best business ideas for just before the Reed brothers saddled up.  On their last trip to the big city, after three hours in the saddle, Adolphus and James Reed had made a number of decisions.  A visit to the lawyers was in order.

The Walker Reed Company had bet 78 per cent of its total assets, no small amount, on a gamble that people in California would never know about.  They purchased The Union Trust Company outright and merged it with Wells Fargo.  They did not take ownership of Wells Fargo security or concerns.  The government had nationalized the carriage and railroads for the War to End All Wars.  Wells Fargo was too valuable a brand to have much fuss made and the only thing the Walker Reeds had left to distrust was the press.

The business plan was essentially Letty’s.  She was convinced that most banks in the United States were over extended – and especially in California.  All that “mining money” as Uncle James called it was tied up in a lot of shaky investments – much of it in the New York Stock Exchange, which had failed miserably in ’26 taking all but the heartiest banks with it.  Letty knew that the rest of the smaller banks would fail in the next three years and that they could be purchased for pennies on the dollar by a bank rich in cash and gold.  The only bank close enough was Wells Fargo but it would need a very large infusion of capitol, enough to make it the Wells Fargo Super-Bank.  What she didn’t know at the time was that the Walker Reed Company had a lot of money it needed to protect from the coming economic storm.

A bad American economy, Letty had said the last time she played the Business Game, was a compelling reason for America go back to war in Europe, it made the most economic sense.  Before that was done, she reasoned, money would have to flow into and out of this new Super-Bank as the best bank customer in the world –Uncle Sam – would need to fund a war bigger than the last Great War.

The best news was that the US would purchase raw material and foodstuffs with these guaranteed loans from the Super-Bank.  And that was just exactly what the Reed brothers invested the remaining 22% of their holdings on.  They were either going to be richer or fantastically richer in as little as 10 years.

She was right of course.  But, of course, she would not live to see her fantastic successes and the growing fortunes of her family.

Isabella had managed to keep the mysterious book out of her hands before dinner but Letty was able to get a glimpse of a few well-rendered words in a strong, intelligent and – she could only hear the word dangerous – hand.  The words, some Latin-based language, were fantastical.  Bloody and violent on the only page she saw while walking to the stables with her father and uncle.

Then, intercepted by her mother before she could ask one of the thousands of questions about Wells, Fargo, Pinkerton and the book, she was off to arrange the details of the meal with the staff.  The men shared a meaningful glance.

“Do you think we did the right thing, Jimmy?”

“We’ve been lucky, Dolfus.”

“Luck ain’t got nothin’ to do with it! We gambled millions on this.”

“The legal boys liked it, Dolphus.”

“Yep.”

“She’s smart.”

“Yep.”

“She just has a talent for reading all those articles and reports and books and coming up with a simple plan.”

“So simple!  That’s why I don’t know if – ”

“Dolphus.  It’s always been simple.  Working with Papa.  We pulled metal out of the ground and the men in San Fran gave us money for it.”

“Yep.  Hard currency, though, Jimmy.  Land, we can see.  Horses we can touch.  We gave hard money for hard things. This is just all just so much paper…”

“I know your guts as well as I know my own and we’re going to do well.  ‘Sides, we didn’t bet it all on the banks.  We saved some for commodities and such.”

“She thought of that too.  She didn’t even care one way or the other.  It was just like – what does she call it?  A theoretical exercise?  What the hell does that mean, James?”

“It means you got horse sense and your wife’s got book sense, Adolphus.  And that beautiful, crazy daughter of yours has both in spades.”

“Yep.”

My Mother

She was so big to me as to block out the very sun
Indeed, she was sun and moon to me
And ocean, too, for the first nine months

She could frighten, amaze, love and protect me
She was, is and always shall be a powerful woman
To me

Even though, at the end
She was
frail
calm
quiet
aloof
impatient

Many people thought my relationship with my mother was odd
But we seemed to make it work

Having gone through the drama and difficulty of power struggle
We settled, finally, into a respectful distance
In which we corresponded infrequently and often by letter

But it worked for us
Me, the little boy who became a man
With all she taught me:

Respect for women
Emotional combat
Tough love

Farewell lady
Mother
Protector
Teacher
Posessor of legendary stubbornness

Is it any wonder I became the son you loved and respected
From a distance?