Art Criticism

Courtesy of OZ

A Dramat Reminisces

Some of you will remember Tom Pincu, a fraternity brother of mine at Beta Sigma Rho (aka the house of raging hormones). Tom is a 57 graduate. But what the heck, that's close enough. He was a dramat graduate, majoring in theatrical lighting. Over the years, I've stayed in touch with Tom, who lives in Los Angeles. I pointed him to our blog and here is what he wrote -- some of you I'm sure will remember some of the people he recalls:
Dusty

Hi, Dusty,
I have to tell you that yours is the first blog I've ever read. I've heard of them, but paid little attention to them. I've been so busy in my work and family problems I haven't had time for much else. A poor way to live.
I was so caught up in all my misphucha at Tech that I barely knew what was going on. Sounds like you P &D types were better focused. (No pun intended).

Dick Brown, Mark Schoenberg and I have had some correspondence and Brown and I met in Orlando last year at a trade show. He came down to see me and we had a good dinner together and talked over old times. He still looks well and more regal with a little gray in his hair.

Ed Feigenbaum's name always elicits an image in my mind from tech and I've read about his accomplishments in the real world over the years. His life's accomplishments are impressive.

Skip Jenkins aka Claude Woolman died of aids about 5 years ago. I saw him briefly when he was trying to do some lighting in his apartment and needed some help. Jean Ann Dickenson had a stroke years ago that damn near ruined her but she came back fighting. The rest of the gang from my class of 1957 have fallen from view - I guess it's a shame. The variety of classmates in the fraternity contributed to a rich 4 years.

To read your comments between yourself and your classmates is nostalgic and interesting. As we grow older we tend to remember the past and those beautiful, bright girls we knew. Now there's just an afterglow. When I see great theatrical performances, they still engage me and constrict my heart with their excellence. I sometimes have trouble breathing while watching a great performance. Our roots are still well seated.

Take good care.

Best regards,

Tom

arnold wasserman said...
Carnegie Tech made me a theatre addict for life.
I remember the Masters performances in The Little Theatre of the Fine Arts building.

Especially a Shakespeare's Tempest where Bill Ball as Calaban slithered across the stage and twined himself around trees ike a serpent.
And then there was a performance of Stravinsky's "L'Histoire du Soldat" with Ball as the devil and George Peppard as the soldier, and William Steinberg conducting an ensemble from the Pittsburgh symphony

How increadably fortunate we were to be able to stumble down the worn marble stairs in our paint-mottled jeans, flop down in a seat in The Little Theatre and let extraordinary performances flow over us.
Dusty

11:00 AM

Dusty:

Tom Pincu said:
This whole thing has triggered memories of Tech. From Henry Boettcher stalking the drama halls and looking madly Faustian to Mary Morris exhorting dramats to be "believable". I remember her grabbing me in a freshman acting class and trying to teach me how to really embrace a fellow actress. I wanted to embrace the fellow actress in more than one way, but buried in Mary's giant clevevage only increased my desire to escape her badly perfumed body.

I bet you don't remember "Drop Storage" in the drama department. Many a rainy Saturday was spent there among the soft velours drinking wine, munching on cheese and bread, and other gastronomic carryings on with young coeds.

Young women in Balcomb Greene's art history class swooning over his angular, sweat blotched nylon sport shirt as he attempted to impart the development of Doric, Ionic, and Corinthian columns in architecture. After one of his classes God couldn't talk to a coed. When Jack Palance and the cast of a touring show in Pittsburgh visited Tech, Donna Krochmal (now gone to her maker) got so weak kneed over his visage we had to hold her up. She was unapproachable for weeks. (I really didn't understand hormones or love in those days.)

Oh my! I don't know if my heart can take all this.

Tom