A few years ago, I moved to Los Angeles, and set out to produce a play I wrote and produced in New York.  It’s a play which melds spoken word, jazz and art.  The title of the play is, "I'm YourNanny's Child."  I performed it in New York and was inspired to write it after I won the Amateur night competition at the Apollo Theatre, after reading the piece, "Nigger, Nigger Burning Bright or An Impresario’s Rap." 

Los Angeles is not known for theatre and especially theatre that's original or challenging.  Most of the "theatre," and I place the words in quotes because even though it takes place in a theatre venue, most of what I've seen in Los Angeles, can at best be described as parlor shows or vanity monologues by spouses of Hollywood insiders and local weathermen.  There was actually a one-woman show where the wife of a Hollywood insider talked about her chemotherapy and showed slides of herself, during various stages of cancer.  There was also "An evening with Fritz Lang," a local weatherman.  Rob Reiner's mother often does a cabaret show; Fernando Lamas has a cabaret show... I think you get the picture of what constitutes as theatre in Los Angeles.

Seeing what I was up against I still set out to bring my brand of theatre to Los Angeles.  It t'wernt easy.  I called some contacts from New York and they steered me to various people they knew.  For all the smiles and glad handing that goes on in Los Angeles, it can be the most unwelcoming city for artists. Undaunted, I plowed on and finally after every obstacle had been thrown at me, including having to change venues the day before my performance, I vowed never to do another production in Los Angeles again. 

A couple of years passed, before I screwed up my strength to produce anything in Los Angeles.  I decided to do a play about Josephine Baker which I first produced in New York at Lincoln Center.  Once again, I turned to New York contacts and was led to two gentlemen, one was Sheldon Epps,who is the Artistic Director at The Pasadena Playhouse, which is now closed, and the other was Ben Bradley, who was at the Fountain Theatre. 

I met Sheldon after I produced my first play in Los Angeles.  A person who worked with him came to see my show andwas impressed that I was able to fill the theatre, especially afterswitching venues overnight.  Sheldon invited me to shadow him when hedirected an episode of "Frasier."

The second person, was Ben Bradley.  Ben worked in audience development at the Fountain, a small funky looking theatre in Hollywood.  I spent a great deal of time with him and he was quite helpful to me, so you can imgaine how shocked I was when I turned on the 11:00 news and heard, "Producer at the Fountain Theatre found stabbed to death in his apartment." 

Shock, disbelief, disgust, sadness, anger, I felt all those emotions at once.  How could this happen?  Who would do such a thing? Why was he living in Koreatown?  Why did it take a "stage manager" to discover him?  Where was his family?  Who knew his full name was Bennett?  All these questions popped in my head. 

I also began to wonder about how I would meet my end?  It's one of those things that I don't spend any time thinking about, but this was such a shocking and violent turn of events that it crowded my mind.  I knew this person and not in a casual way but I actually spent more time talking to him than I had anyone in the L.A. theatre community.

Ben had a very mild and genial mien.  He did not offer a threatening presence but he could get cross and salty if he had the mind to.  I recall someone called on the phone, in his messy office at the Fountain, with what he apprised to be a foolish inquiry, Ben did not mince words with them, in fact he used words that were surprising to hear  from a man who made a point of speaking so correctly. 

Ben was very proud of the productions he worked on at the Fountain.  After working many years as the audience development person, who's main job is getting butts into seats, the directors of the Fountain rewarded Ben by letting him direct.  He directed two August Wilson’s plays. 

Ben was a fan of August Wilson's work.  I'm not.  Out of deference for Ben I went to see his production of "Joe Turner Has Come and Gone."  I was bored.  After thinking about it, it wasn't the production that bored me as much as it was the play itself.  The subject matter is passé and very dated.  I don't know if Ben could have done much more with what he had to work with; for the story doesn't lend itself to more than what he gave.  The actors gave predictable high flown overly dramatic performances, in those booming voices, that are better suited for a stirring rendition of, "Old Man River."   I wasn't moved by the production but I was touched by Ben's pride and enthusiasm about his "baby."  Ben packed in more butts for that show, through his many years of contacts with Black churches, sororities and the Jack and Jill society, than any play about the Holocaust the fountain ever produced. 

Perhaps I'm cynical but as I reflect upon how humbly and meagerly Ben lived and died at 59 years of age, I can't help wonder whether the Fountain directors are grieving Ben or the rolodex of contacts that went with him. 

I'll grieve Bennnet Bradley, because we shared a passion for the process of theatre.  The hard work it takes to take a project from A to Z, just for a couple of hours of audience appreciation.  Ben may not have died wealthy or renowned but he was definitely appreciated and valued by one misplaced New Yorker, who needed a sympathetic ear and advice.   He was like an oasis in a desert