Generations of Ovations.
Dozens of flubs.
One magical theater worth saving.
In 1979, I starred in Ocala Civic Theatre’s “The Music Man.”
And by “starred,” I mean I played Iowa Chorus Kid Five. With my puberty-plagued voice, I screeched out “Wells Fargo Wagon” safely behind cast members with actual talent. This was at the old OCT, the long-ago razed building with a trap door on the stage (for the magician who built it and then haunted it), the ladies’ room near the back row (flushes often mingled with dialogue) and the men’s room outside the front door.
Years later, my voice still quite offensive, I was cast in “George M,” where I had a singing solo. I sang one line – “So long, Mary.” On most nights, I prayed for loud ladies-room flushes to cover my crooning.
Years after that, I appeared in the Scottish musical “Brigadoon.” My big moment came when I – in a kilt exposing pale chicken legs – walked onto stage to announce the arrival of the clans for the big party scene. One night, I walked onto stage, looked at the crowd and … nothing.
I could not remember my lines, so I just started saying words that started with “Mc.” I announced the McDonald’s clan, stopping just short of summoning the McRib clan.
After the scene, I wandered outside and cried. I blew the whole show. Eggs would be thrown. The theater would close.
Then the most talented woman in Ocala, Rita Silvestro, talked me off the ledge. “You recovered beautifully,” she said, her hand on my quaking back. I believed her, wiped away my tears and lived to torture more audiences.
My final performance in that old building was “Cabaret,” where I dressed in drag and played saxophone in the orchestra. “Even zee orcheeeestra is beautiful,” the Emcee proclaimed, gesturing to a scary group of dudes in sparkly dresses and dangly earrings.
Throughout those years, my mother served as the box office manager. She and my step-father served on theater boards and committees.
As a newspaper reporter, I wrote about OCT shows filled with familiar faces from my youth. Years later, I served on theater’s board of directors.
On stage, I spoke at the memorial for Mary Britt, OCT’s long-time and long-loved executive director. I told the audience how Mary once told me people in Ocala’s arts community suggested we were sleeping together because OCT got such good coverage in the newspaper.
Fact is, I was a little biased. OCT remains a huge part of my life. Also, OCT is one of the best community theaters in the Southeast. It is an integral part of Ocala, a cultural anchor since the 1950s. OCT patrons know. This place is special.
But as OCT eyes its 75th season, the theater is closer to closing than it was during the pandemic. Nearly 60% of its revenue comes from donations, foundations and government grants – sources that are not exactly stable these days. Arts funding has dwindled over the years, particularly this year.
As funding sources tighten, OCT’s 37-year-old building has been demanding costly maintenance. As I write this, “SpongeBob the Musical” is making all generations giggle and sing, and the theater’s excellent outreach and education programs have made this institution even more valuable.
We cannot lose Ocala Civic Theatre. We might as well put a cork in Silver Springs and trade the thoroughbreds for weevils.
The theater is looking for more sponsors and donations, but, frankly, the best place to start is buying a ticket. If you have not been to OCT, go. It is a Marion County must. You will be amazed. You will be entertained. You will walk out saying what all newcomers say: “I cannot believe this is in Ocala.”
The days of Dave in drag reciting the McDonald’s menu on stage are gone. Unless, of course, that will prompt a donation. I would gladly toss on a wig, squeeze into sequins and belt out “So long, Mary” to see the curtain open on OCT’s 75th season.
Or donate to prevent me from singing. I don’t care. This is serious. Save the Civic.
