A few years ago, I moved to Los Angeles, and set out toproduce a play I wrote and produced in New York.  It’s a play which meldsspoken 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 writeit after I won the Amateur night competition at the Apollo Theatre, afterreading the piece, "Nigger, Nigger Burning Bright or An Impresario’sRap." 

Los Angeles is not known for theatre and especially theatre that's original orchallenging.  Most of the "theatre," and I place the words inquotes because even though it takes place in a theatre venue, most of what I'veseen in Los Angeles, can at best be described as parlor shows or vanitymonologues by lovers of Hollywood insiders and local weathermen.  Therewas actually a one-woman show where the wife of a Hollywood insider talkedabout her chemotherapy and showed slides of her during various stages ofcancer.  There was also a show of musings by Fritz Lang, a NBCweatherman.  Rob Reiner's mother often does a cabaret show; Fernando Lamashas a cabaret show... I think you get the picture of what constitutes astheatre in Los Angeles.

Seeing what I was up against I still set out to bring my brand of theatre toLos Angeles.  It t'wernt easy.  I called some contacts from New Yorkand they sent me to various people in Los Angles they knew from New York. What I met with was resistance and suspicion that I would somehow usurp theirplace.  For all the smiles and glad handing that goes on in Los Angeles,it's the most unwelcoming city and goodwill is parsimonious among artists. Undaunted I plowed on and finally after every obstacle being thrown at me,including having to change venues the day before my performance, I prevailedand vowed never to do another production in Los Angeles again. 

A couple of years passed, before I screwed up my strength to endeavor toproduce another original piece in Los Angeles.  This one was a play aboutJosephine Baker.  The first production I ever produced was a musicalproduction on Josephine Baker, and that was at the Lincoln Center Librarytheatre.  After that production, I also vowed never to produce anythingagain, but of course I did. 

The production of "Baker" I did in Los Angeles was more of a playwith music than a musical spectacular.  It had many characters so I had tohire actors and a musical director, that in itself is quite a chore in LosAngeles, because "actors" in Los Angeles are trained, if trained atall, for film and T.V. so they have this way of speaking and acting, as ifthey're waiting for a laugh or sigh or boo track, you know, canned responses,thus canned acting.   What to do I thought?  Once I again, Iturned to New York contacts and was led to two gentlemen, one was Sheldon Epps,who is the Artistic Director at The Pasadena Playhouse, and the other was BenBradley, who was the audience development person for the FountainTheatre. 

I had met Sheldon after I produced my first play in Los Angeles.  Anaudience development person who worked with him came to see my show and wasimpressed that I was able to fill the theatre, especially after switchingvenues overnight.  Sheldon was one of the few people who took my call, atleast, his assistant did.  He even invited me to tag along when hedirected an episode of "Frasier."  I never received any jobsfrom him or because of my association with him, but that's pretty much how itworks in Los Angeles.  Casual associates don't rise up the ranks; you haveto be very familiar with someone in the know to get work. 

What about talent, you ask?  Talent is perceived as a disadvantage, it'stoo much of a threat.  Connections are better than talent in LosAngeles.  When who you know is pitted against what you know, who you knowwins every time.

The second person, Ben Bradley was, and I say I was because I nearly keeledover two nights ago, when turned on the 11:00 news and heard, "Producer atthe Fountain Theatre found stabbed to death in his apartment."  Thereon the screen was a familiar face to anyone who has ever known him or been tothe Fountain.  Shock, disbelief, disgust, sadness, anger, I felt them allat once.  How could this happen?  Who would do such a thing? Why was he living in Koreatown?  Why did it take a "stagemanager" from the theatre to discover him?  Where was hisfamily?  Who knew his full name was Bennett?  All these questionspopped in my head. 

I also began to do some self-reflection.  How will I meet my death? It's one of those things that I don't spend any time thinking about, but thiswas such a shocking and violent turn of events that it crowded my mind.  Iknew this person and not in a casual way but I actually spent more time talkingto him than I had anyone in this selfish community.

Once I decided to produce my Josephine Baker play not as a performance reading,which is like a full production but with less production value and actors canread from the script, only I insisted that they know their parts, I had to finda venue.  A contact stated that Ben may be helpful.  When I called hesounded occupied, but he was willing to listen.  We finally met and he wasmuch more receptive.  We met many times afterwards because I lived not toofar from the theatre and I recall many times he was late for ourappointments.  Later, I discovered he was often late because I believe hetook the bus and walked; which is quite odd in Los Angeles.  It's verydifficult to get around without a car here.  I'm not sure if he had a carand it was being repaired but I know he didn't drive around in a fancy foreigncar, nor did he dress to impress, he always appeared dressed simply and a bitruffled.  I wouldn't say he was ill-groomed, I would say he looked neat,but without a lot of thought about his sartorial choices. 

Ben had a very mild and genial mien.  He did not offer a threateningpresence but he could get crossed and honery if he had the mind to.  Irecall someone called on the phone, in his messy office at the Fountain, withwhat he apprised to be a foolish inquiry, Ben did not mince words with them, infact he used some salty language for a man who normally used such correct speech. 

We shared our mutual love for the theatre and our frustration about the lack oftheatrical integrity in Los Angeles.  Ben was very proud of theproductions he worked on at the Fountain.  After many years as working asthe audience development person, who is the person responsible for gettingbutts in the seats for the Fountain, the directors of the Fountain rewarded Benby letting him direct.  He directed two August Wilson’s plays. 

Ben was a fan of August Wilson's work.  I'm not.  Out of deferencefor Ben I went to see his production of "Joe Turner Has Come andGone."  I was bored.  After thinking about it, it wasn't theproduction that bored me as much as it was the play itself.  The subjectmatter is passé and very dated.  I don't know if Ben could have done muchmore with what he had to work with, the story doesn't lend itself to more thanwhat he gave.  The actors gave predictable high flown over dramaticperformances, in those booming voices, that are better suited for a stirringrendition of, "Old Man River."   I was not moved by theproduction by I was touched by Ben's pride and enthusiasm about his baby, hisshow.  Ben packed in more butts through his many years of contacts withBlack churches, sororities, Jack and Jill society, than any play about theHolocaust the fountain produced. 

It was a true testament to his worth at the Fountain that Ben could get peopleto come out for plays that otherwise would never have an audience.  Isensed that Ben felt underappreciated and the fact that he was never given thetitle of producer or director in residence by the directors of the Fountain,was testament to the selfish nature of this business.  What it would havemeant to Ben to be acknowledged for more than the genial face who put butts inseats and the latent director of the "Black" productions. 

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

I'll grieve Bennnet Bradley, because we shared a passion for theatre and theprocess.  The arduous process it takes to take a project from A to Z, justfor a couple of hours of audience appreciation.  Ben may not have diedwealthy or renowned but he was definitely appreciated and valued by onemisplaced New Yorker, who needed a sympathetic ear and advice.  To me, Benwill always be remembered as an oasis in a desert.