FORMER BOSS, RESPONSIBLE FOR HIRING
YOUR DILIGENT CORRSESPONDENT COMES THROUGH
LIKE A CHAMPTION WHEN ASKED TO HELP OUT
By Mark Ganzer
It had been too long a time since I'd last seen and talked with Will Burgess, former Vice-President and Chief Actuary of Bankers Life & Casualty Company of Chicago, Illinois, but I had messed up and simply made too much spaghetti and knew that without another belly to eat it, my weight would have increased two pounds. So, asking and receiving father's permission to invite Will on down (he lives but a mere 1.25 miles away), I attempted to skirt the issue: “Will, this is Mark Ganzer. I need your help.”
“Well, Mark, what did you have in mind?”
“Will, I've made too much spaghetti tonight, and if you don't come down here and help us eat it, I am likely to grow my triple and double chins again. Can you make it?”
“Let me check.” A few seconds elapsed and he returned to the phone. “What time do you want me to be there?” “Fifteen minutes before six would be good, five-forty-five.” “I'll see you then.”
Since man does not live by spaghetti alone, dad asked me what else we needed. “A loaf of Italian bread, and a head of lettuce. Also, some ketchup, we're just about out.”
So Ralph headed off for JEWEL-OSCO foods and I poured a quart of water into a pitcher and added eight tea bags and set the concocction out on a chair on the patio that was going to get sunlight for at least an hour. I had cooked the spaghetti the night before, adding one and a half bottles of sauce and six slices of velveeta cheese, so I put the cooked spaghetti bowl into the oven, set the temperature for 225º and let the wonders of modern electricity take over. Dad returned pretty promptly, he had also purchased two quarts of ice cream, for which I was quite grateful. I sliced the head of lettuce up, sliced up about eight tomatoes, tossed them up, and put the salad in the freezer. Then spent the next half hour straightening up the upstairs (moving papers and books around, hiding some in the guest room, placing others, fully defined boxes, bags, shoe boxes on the table on the patio, under the awning. I had a plan in mind, and thought it would work; to eat, then watch NCIS and talk, and then talk some more.
The appointed 5:45 p.m. Hour came and went. No Will! Five minutes later, and still, no Will! Ten minutes, the same, fourteen minutes, no Will! Stunning, the man is one of the three most punctual people I know, and here he is 14 minutes late. But, at 6:00 p.m., he pulled his brand new Beemer into the driveway.
Dad had already sat himself down at the table (a sure-fire sign that he is HUNGRY, with capitals everywhere). So we did too. I took the spaghetti from the stove (had turned it off after about 30 minutes, so it was just resting in the heat, it looked good!), the tossed salad from the freezer, got out the two bottles of dressing – french and ranch, and took drink orders. Will wanted iced tea, no sugar. WHEW! Glad I didn't put the sugar in in advance, a matter of “convenience,” NO, not when your guest doesn't take sugar in his iced tea. Dad had water. I put lots of sugar in my iced tea. Also took out the bread from the oven. I had melted an entire stick of butter on the inside of half a loaf of Italian bread, but Will wanted more butter. He got margarine instead; soft margarine. Dad drank water.
And so we ate, and conversed, always about the old days, some of the people – Susan B. Gillies (married to a mailman, former Viet Nam vet); Chrstine Frasier – not really sure, hadn't seen her in a long time; Nancy Lyons – doing real well having reinvented herself as a financial consultant after 9-11: Will had run into her (rather she into him) at JEWEL-OSCO within the last week, and didn't recognize her!
“Will,” I said, “how could you have forgotten those breasts!”
“I wasn't looking at her breasts,” was his painfully honest answer, which, of course, had I given the matter ANY thought whatsoever, I would have known, without having had to ask.
And then it was 6:58, and time for NCIS. I have a plan, I said, we should move downstairs to watch NCIS. “I'm all for that plan,” said Will. And I will fix the ice cream. How much ice cream do you like? I asked my mentor. “Well, Dorothy used to get real mad at me whenever I dished out my own ice cream. Will,” she'd say, “that much ice cream can't do your heart any good! And even now, I feel guilty whenever I dish up a lot, but, I still would rather dish up a lot than a little.” Spoken like a true man after my own heart!
Will and I talked about Mark Davis, the ASA who took up Joel Berstein's challenge to hack part IV of the Actuarial Exams (as configured circa 1983) and succeeded in guessing the pass word, and getting a copy of the exam, he had already passed, and then, coup de grace, BRAGGING about it to Joel, who duly reported the hack to his boss, the closet queer queen Jon Neihaus, who fired Mark Davis on the spot. Of course, like all the brightest young actuaries, Mark called me, and I called Bob Larson, the one-eyed actuary that could drink any railroad man in the world under the table (his last gigue was with the Railroad Retirement Board, as its chief Actuary, a minor job that paid out $2 BILLION a month in benefits. Bob alleged how it would not be imossible for Mark to get work in the field again, but that it might be a tad difficult, and it might take some time.
So I called Mark back and invited him to play Thunderbird County Club with Susan B. Gillies, my father, and me. Mark shot 69, so, naturally, I called Greg Carney (perv) the Vice-President and Chief Actuary of Variable Annuity Life Insurance Company (VALIC) and reltated the story to him. Greg told me he'd give the matter some thought. When Greg got a call from an actuarial recruiting vulture, Greg asked, “by any chance, would he have been formerly employed at BL&C, and would his name be Mark Davis?” Well, yes, and yes, so Mark married Julie, the Iranian Coptyc Christian who was a math teacher over their in Tehran under the Shah, and decided living in the USA might be a better deal (which it has turned out for her to be). Mark went to work at VALIC for a while, and took his wife (of course) who also got a job there, and then he got tired of the Houston scene (who doesn't) and moved on to greener pastures. One of my favorite ESCAPE FROM BANKERS stories of all time!
Then I asked Will about the fire, and why the decision was made to do a seriatim valuation, rather than estimate. He told me exactly why! He went to the Life Valuation Division and spoke with both the clerks and supervisors. Pauline Strahota, she of the earthy mouth at the Christmas parties, at which more than a little booze flowed through the office, upon listening to Will's pitch, and learning that Bankers' top management would settle for an estimate for the interim statement said, “Let's just do it right, we can get it done in time.”
When Will spoke at Pauline's funeral (her daughter Wilma Kay and I worked together at Jewel Foods for a while, and we were both members of the Lutheran Church of the Atonement in Barrington for more than 30 years togther, he said, “I could work with Pauline, but she could never work for me!” Which is simply a riff on the old line by Leo Lehane, the one-legged actuary, to whom John D. MacAruthur offered a 50% stake in BL&C when the company was in receivership back in 1932 (it would have cost Leo $1,000 to buy in). But Leo said, “No, John. I can work for you, but I can't work with you,” and Leo NEVER once regretted his choice, not even in those moments of drunken levity when he'd unscrew his wooden leg at Little Joe's across the street from the Actuarial Division and drink beers out of his wooden leg. Those were the days my friend, with Paul Harvey advertising Bankers' White Cross Plan on the radio twice a day, while he gave you, “and now my friends, you know the REST of the story.”
Will had forgotten where we had lunch when I interviewed at Bankers. It was the Greek Family House down at the corner of Lawrence and Western. All male waiters, and me, never having eaten anything more ethnic than Chinese carry in before. I went with the braised lamb, and the lemon soup, and when the four of us, Bernie Rabinowitz, the South African actuary with only a high school education, Paul Janus, head of the Individual A&H unit, and a former caddie, Will Burgess, and I had finished lunch, and the first bottle of Rodytis, the waiter came and asked if we wanted more, and I, yes, you read that correctly, I said, “Yes,” resoundingly. And we did, and it was good.
Will told me that they were only hiring candidates who had passed exams. “But Will,” I said, “I didn't have any exams.”
“But we knew you were going to pass.”
“You mean, you actually looked at my college transcripts and noticed that more than half of my college credits were in math; that my electives were graduate level math classes? Wow, did you guys ever do you homework.”
So, it was an affirmation. They had made a great choice (plus I programmed in FORTAN and could type 100+ wpm, and these skills {glorified clerk} made my star shine brightly, yes, very brightly indeed at BL&C in the years 1973-79.
Dad fell asleep listening to our conversation, not one word about golf – NO, wait, that's wrong, because dad was often recruited into playing in the corporate outings, there were five a year in the summer, and Will remembered the time that Perv (Greg Carney) and I played with him, and that we were both at the peak of our games. (Well, not hardly. Greg had played freshman golf at Yale University and part of their training involved running five miles a day. “Best shape I was ever in; best golf I ever played,” acknowledged the part time bartender on LSA and at the River Shannon. And my best friend, who has ALWAYS come to visit me in the mental hospitals, and has always carried out my requests. God bless you, Greg.
John Ganzer's magical mystery tour
From BCHS TO BROADWAY
By Mark Ganzer
PART 1:   JOHN GANZER - THE EARLY YEARS
Born 4 February, 1955 in Streator, Illinois, John was always an energetic enthusiastic child whose wide-ranging interests and God-given talent for singing made him a family, friend, classmate, and teachers' favorite.
John was also blessed with a common sense pragmatism leading his siblings to speculate that he was not related to any of us. He never made things complicated. He loved to make us laugh, and in our laughing, love our lives and our God all the more.
As with all the Ganzer children, John sang church solos and took piano lessons (from Louise Castelli).  He also joined band, following his brother Mark's trail by choosing to learn the Baritone (since he was forever feted to be a first tenor, the contrast seemed a logical fit).
 His favorite school subjects were English and History.  Had his acting career not fared as well as it did, he would have become a High School History teacher.  He was always small, owing most likely to the X-rays given at birth.  Were it not for his Uncle Bill Richardson's keeping abreast of developments in the medical profession, John might not have survived his first year. But Uncle Bill told mom to stop having him x-rayed.
 He survived and he thrived. His perseverance was even more diligent than his father Ralph's, and his forward planning was stupendous - an incredible thing to behold, to see a 4th grader plan four years down the road to running for President of the 8th grade middle school council was astonishing - almost as devastating a table run as Barack Obamamade after coming to the forefront of "liberal-democratic" conscienseness after delivering the Democratic Primary Keynote address for John Kerry.  When the Student Council votes were tallied, John and his running mate had garned more than 1,000; his opponent (and good friend, who would follow John into the acting business in New York City, going so far as even to swipe a rent-controlled apartment out from under John's best laid plans) had less than 50.
Having proved to himself he could succeed in politics, John was able to devote all of his free time efforts to studying and perfecting his singing and acting talents.
 John had the great and good fortune to attend Barrington Consolidated High School whose legendary performing arts department was begun the the genius Richard C. Johnson.  John kept every one of Dick's hand-written stage notes for every play he was in (that would be twelve of them!).  John was also in the first high school class that would have the benefit of four full years of Philip Mark's music directorship - the results comparing Christmas and Spring Concerts over the years are flabbergasting.  Phil took the choir programs to heights not even Deadaluas dreamt to fly.
 John was also blessed with as talented a group of high school performing artists as has EVER been assembled, and he loved them all, and they all him.  The effervecsant Colleen Zenk first befriended him, and embraced him into her arms and under her bossom.  Ditto for Claire Bataille, Chris Limber (the finest Tevyev actor every born, or ever likely to be born), Matthew Ward, and I do all of you others a serious injustice (oh, Mark Parker, Bob Ploch) by ommitting your names. Forgive me, please.
Randy Nolde played as large a role as an adult teacher-mentor as anyone, and John simply loved the man (it was reciprocated). And oh the girls, OH, the girls. They loved him in so many beautiful ways, that my lust for his harem(s) was kind of trashy by way of comparison.  But we shan't forget Janie Kinchloe, Heather (the Wench) Watson, Dawn Duhaime (and her brother Brian).

 PART2:  HE'S A BLOOMIN' DRIVIN' IDJIUT
John was mechanical. He loved to drive. We had a tractor lawn mower that he leapt on, like a dog in heat to his master's leg, and mowed round and round, back and forth all that summer of '67 long.  When he was 14, he asked mom if he could practice driving with her.  She had him (so she thought). "Well, if you can back out of the driveway, I will let you."
Again, he LEAPT at the opportunity. Mom thought that he'd get the wheel moves backwards, but, John hadn't been tractor-mowing for three years to mess up this grand opportunity.  So driving lessons it was, which went swimmingly well, EVEN when he bumped our 1964 Studebaker (the automatic, we got a second one with a clutch, which only John and Papa Ralph could drive - hmm, fancy that!) into the back of a local car dealer's vehicle.  When the police officer came to check the situation out, the dealer just waved him away. "All under control here officer."

PART 3:        SHOWBOAT & HIS SENIOR YEAR - ONE TRIUMPH,
SEVERAL HUMILIATIONS
Show Boat was a grand triumph, both for John and Chris Limber.  Dick Johnson always picked his plays to fit the talents of his most veteran thesbians.  This was a great match.  The following year, it was Fiddler on the Roof.  Holy smokes, talk about being on fire! 
The rest of his senior year was not so triumphant.  All three of thebitches girls he asked out turned him down.  He was in the dumps, but then, things go like that: when you're hot you're hot, when you're not you're not.

PART 4:        JOHN'S SECRET DREAM - GOES UNFULFILLED AS HE
TRIES TO ATTEMPT A TRADITIONAL ROUTE

He was accepted by the University of Illinois, majoring in Music, minoring in History, keeping the options open. But there was a secret John, that only he most trusted and beloved knew, and Secret John wanted more than anything to do his night club act (a la Mel Torme) on the Johnny Carson show (after all, John and older brother Mark used to spend hours practicing their wit, accents, cadences, emphases, etc, into the reel to reel tape recorder their beloved Uncle Floyd had given the family on one of his usual Crown Jeweled Christmas present days).
 John withdrew from the U. of I. after one year (1973-74, the Year of the Streaker) and returned to Barrington where he managed a PLITT Theatre for a little more than a year.  He also performed in Summer Stock in Milwaukee and Indiannapolis, making ever more contacts who would later help and support him so much when his time came to invade New York City.
PART 5:        PACKIN' IT UP TO HEAD FOR THE BIG APPLE

Well, the PLITT thing wasn't getting him any nearer to Johnny Carson (especially since Johnny C. had pulled up out of NYC to go broadcast on the left coast - generally a wrong move for a bona fide mid-western kid with a quick mind, a compassionate soul, and a never-ending cornucopia of God-given talent with the self-discpline to develop that talent). So, John up and left for the Big Apple, where for the first several years, he made far more money cleaning toilets and decorating fake Christmas Trees at Macy's than he did from his acting craft.  He also got work as a singing waiter at the most excellent restuarant, Panache.
 But John always had an advantage, a HUGE advantage over about 90% of the actors he ever auditioned with: He WANTED the part, always. And so, he started to get work, and as is always the case, work begets more work, and he landed his best gig ever, stage manager for Joseph and the Amazing Colored Dream Coat, where he was responsible for eleven understudy parts.  This shortly led to a lead, which he never relinquished, performing in all 743 consecutive performances, with Anthony Gibb, and the dork (Donnie Osmond?) from the stupid 60's TV show, The Brady Bunch.
Will never understand high school girls. Who WOULDN'T want to go to senior prom with this good lookin' stud muffin.  Hell, I'd have gone if only he had asked, and I have let him get to second base, too!
 Your loss ladies, your inestimable loss.
 Try to imagine how much fun this would have been for this lusty, holy trio!  The experience of a lifetime, and memories to last even longer.
 JOHN!  BOZO!  HOT THEATER CHICKS -- DID YOU EVEN TRY?
Maybe the reason all those other bitches fine and upstanding moral young ladies slapped you down was because YOU WOULDN'T PUT OUT!  YA THINK.
HELL, I am getting more pissed off by the second, and to think, I never forced myself, or even thought about it, on any one of them.
 What Kind of Fool am I?
PART 6:        YOU WANNA RASSLE, SUCKAH?
 Well, this is about the wrap. Except for the time I was back from school, a 172 pound college graduate and John was his stylish 115-pound self, when I casually said, "So, you wanna wrassle?"
 Little mutha dropped to the floor - "You got top" he said, and pinned my flabby white ass in under 8 seconds.  HOLY SHEE-IT!  It was payback for all those years I paid him $0.35 every week to deliver 30% of the papers on the streets with the only two dogs what ever bit me (my weekly take was $8.50 - so, John was actually entitled to about ... $2.55 each week).  Good lesson young brother of mine - You're family will screw you when it comes to money.  Take THAT to Actor's Equity Council and Bite On It.  (Which, btw, I'm quite sure, he did).
 Oh, and that summer, when John and Colleen Zenk put on the production to raise money for St. Joseph's, at the after performance cast party, I was introduced to some sweet young thang as "John Ganzer's older brother," within earshot of the man his own self.  Double triumph bro - the way it was always supposed to be.
 The perfect way to end this would be to show John and Colleen Dewhurst. Sadly, that picture was never taken. Instead, here he is shaking hands, in Ford's Theatre, shortly before he was hit by The Virus, shaking the hand of the most calculating draft-dodger Communist who ever swore the oath "To uphold and defend the Constitution against all enemies, both domestic and foreign.)
 With Love, John - to You, and All You Loved.

PART 7:        ON THE GIPPER: JOHN'S THOUGHT ON RONALD REAGAN (POLITICS REARS ITS UGLY HEAD)
John would be the first to tell you that this former card-carrying member of the Communist Party, who freely finked on his brother actors during the Scoundrel time of the McCarthy HUAC Hearings - son of an alcoholic father and highly motivated mother, Reagan learned that by renouncing all the causes of his youth he could convert his boyish good looks into lots of money, power, and political prestige.  And he never once, in all his terms in office said the word, "AIDS," as if,  in not brining its name to the light of day, he could save his own son from it.
 And if you two had it all to do over again,
A cosmic mulligan, as it were,
Please, oh please, just this one thing I ask of you,
That you would not do one single thing differently than you did,
That you love and adore when we were the kid that we would once again
grow up to be,
Light, effervesant, free,
Star dust - from here, the present, to the end of time,
and back to the beginning again -
Unbounded and unbounding, confined only by our own imaginings
We return, again, and again, and again, and again.
GOD BLESS YOU BOTH TOGETHER
PART 8: MAKIN' IT LARGE ON BROADWAY : JOSEPH AND THE AMAZING TECHNICOLOR DREAMCOAT

Royale Theatre, (1/27/1982 – 9/4/1983)
Opening:    Jan 27, 1982                      Closing:    Sep 4, 1983
 Total Performances:    743
 Category:Musical-Comedy-Original-Broadway
 Opening Night Production Credits [see more]
 Theatre Owned / Operated by The Shubert Organization (Gerald Schoenfeld:  Chairman; Bernard B. Jacobs: President)
Produced by Zev Bufman, Susan R. Rose, Melvyn J. Estrin, Sidney Shlenker and Gail Berman; Produced by arrangement with The Robert Stigwood Organization Ltd. and David Land; Associate Producer: Thomas Pennini, Jean Luskin, Jerome Edson and The Rose
 Originally directed by Frank Dunlop at the The Young Vic
Originally directed at Ford's Theatre by James D. Waring; 
Originally choreographed at Ford's Theatre in by Wayne Cilento
Music by Andrew Lloyd Webber; Lyrics by Tim Rice; Music arranged by Martin Silvestri and Jeremy Stone; Music orchestrated by Martin Silvestri and Jeremy Stone; 
Musical Director: David Friedman; 
Book by Tim Rice
Directed by Tony Tanner; Choreographed by Tony Tanner
 Scenic Design by Karl Eigsti; Lighting Design by Barry Arnold; Costume Design by Judith Dolan; Sound Design by Tom Morse; Wig Design by Charles LoPresto; Beaded Headpieces Designed by Paige Southard; Assistant to the Lighting Designer: Toni Goldin; Assistant to Ms. Dolan: Danajean Cicerchi; Assistant to Mr. Eigsti: Tom Cariello 
General Manager: Theatre Now, Inc.; Company Manager: Helen V. Meier
 Production Stage Manager: Michael Martorella; Stage Manager: John Fennessy; 
Assistant Stage Mgr: John Ganzer
 Musical Supervisor: Martin Silvestri and Jeremy Stone; Assistant Conductor: Allen Cohen; Copyist: Music Services Int'l, Ltd.; Orchestra Personnel Manager:Earl Shendell
Casting: Meg Simon and Fran Kumin; General Press Representative: Fred Nathan & Associates; Dance Captain: Joni Masella; Asst. to the Choreographer:Joni Masella; Photographer: Martha Swope and Associates; Advertising: Ash / LeDonne
 
OPENING NIGHT CAST
 Bill Hutton - Joseph             David Ardao - Potiphar Ishmaelite          Laurie Beechman - Narrator 
Tom Carder - Pharaoh             Philip Carrubba - Ishmaelite            
Benjamin - Robert Hyman 
Reuben - Randon Lo    Mrs. Potiphar - Steve McNaughton         Levi
Charlie Serrano 
Napthali - Gordon Stanley         Jacob - David Asher                
Asher - Lorraine Barrett 
Chorus Woman - Karen Bogan         Chorus Woman – Kenneth
Bryan         Simeon - Butler 
Katharine Buffaloe - Chorus Woman     Lauren Goler – Chorus
Woman             Stephen Hope - Judah 
Peter Kapetan - Issachar         Randon Lo - Chorus Woman        
    Joni Masella - Chorus Woman 
Kathleen Rowe McAllen - Chorus Woman              James Rich -
Dan             Barry Tarallo - Gad Baker 
Doug Voet - Zebulon             Renée Warren - Chorus Woman     
IBDB - Internet Broadway Database®
 
Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat 
John Ganzer      ( b. circa. 1955 - d. Dec 3, 1988 ) Male:     Stage
Manager, Performer
Productions    747                 Dates  of  Productions
[Original, Musical, Comedy] Jan  27,  1982 - Sep  4, 1983
    Assistant Stage Manager: John Ganzer 
        Swing: John Ganzer [Swing] 
            Understudy: John Ganzer
                Joseph - Replacement 
© 2001-2011, The Broadway League, All Rights Reserved.
(Copyright and Disclaimer) 
PART 8:        MAKING THE DREAM COME TRUE  |      PANACHE -- 149 E. 57th St.  955-0244  

11/1 at 8,  Dianna Templeton;         11/1 at 11, Tonnia Silicato;      
  11/2 at 8,   Tonnia Silicato,        John Ganzer  11/4-6  at 8,        
John Soleather at 11
 
PART 9:        THROUGH MARIANNE, JOHN'S LEGACY OF GOOD WORKS LIVES ON
And yet, after we depart this mortal coil, the good works we've done live on, in the lives and memories of those who held us so fondly, so warmly, so empathetically, and thus it has come to pass that my youngest sister, Marianne Catherine Ganzer, each year on her birthday, 8 November, 1959, gets up early, gathers her few brave friends, dons her wet suit, and embarks on that 120-mile RIVER RUN TRIATHALON which has enabled her to raise over $100,000 for Actors' Equity Fights Aids -- and these are but rivulets that rain down from the generosity of those who knew John, those who experienced John, those who have come to know him through the surviving recordings, and those who know only that their friends who have loved John are worthy of their free will contributions (in at least one case, as much as $10,000) to the cause, so that one day we may understand, and be able to sustain the lives of EVERY human being on the planet with the HIV virus.
 In' Sha' Allah - God Willing

 PART 10:    EXITING STAGE LEFT LEAVING WORDS FILLED WITH MUCH AMBIGUITY
John's final words were spoken to our sister, Marianne, who was staying with him. He was very sick, the priest was drunk, and John was concerned. "I'm afraid, Marianne," he said.
"Oh John, you've been to the hospital before." "No, that's not it, that's not what I'm afraid of."
"Well, John, you've had the drugs before, you know you can always get lots of valium." "No, that's not it. That's not what I'm afraid of."
"What is it, John? What is it that you afraid of?"  "I'm afriad they'll never know how much I loved them."
AND EVEN NOW, 23 years after, typing these words, reading these words, hearing Marianne say these words, I weep, uncontrollably for the genius lost to us all - my brother's genius: the oracle of Manhattan. For of whom, or to whom was John speaking? You know it in your hearts; you know it in your guts; who was speaking for us all
FOR JOHN SO LOVED THE WORLD.
Blessings and Peace be upon us
And the Spirit of Tolerance,
The Spirit of Forgiveness.
In Love, With Love, Through Love
Until by Love's Loving, our fears are betrayed
And we ascend to alight the light of days.

PT XI: OF JOHN FRANKLIN GANZER'S PERSEVERANCE
In the matter of John Franklin Ganzer's legendary perseverance, our Great Uncle Harold took us Pullman First Class on the Great Empire Builder to Seattle in the Summer of 1966. We stopped in Havre Montana, where we have many relatives. We went on a picnic and John and I climbed a small mountain in the latter party of the mid-day afternoon. The scenery was breath-taking (this was August, under a cloudless Montana sky). John had to get a picture, but we had left the camera at the picnic table. He didn't even ask me to accompany him back down the mountain to fetch the camera to climb the mountain again whilst the sun was setting every more rapidly. He made it back in time and got some great photos. Persevere my man. Keep on keepin' on, my brother.
 The summer after his high school senior year, he was selected as one of Barrington Consolidated High School's two representatives to the local song and dance troupe Great Waves of Care, which put on one heck of a show and toured the country. From that experience he made many more friends, and the following summer, he and Colleen Zenk put together a musical, song & dance ensemble to raise money for the Little Sisters of the Poor Catholic home. The talent was incredible! I wrote the musical score for Summer In the City, for which Matthew Ward was eternally grateful, because that was not one of his favorite numbers. I sang Luck Be a Lady Tonight, solo, and Peter Hayward got a perfectly fitting tuxedo for me for the part. Probably helped that his father was the President of the Chicago Bar Association.
 To truly delve and ken the power of performance to seep into the cracks of people's minds, you would have had to watched the duet of Hey, Johnnie Look Sharp. The sad song ends when Johnnie, after singing to and with his mother, is shot dead, and dies. This was 1972, as my memory serves me, and this was a very powerful anti-war moment, when you could literally have heard a pin drop in the audience. As Ian Anderson wrote for Jethro Tull's Thick as a Brick Album - "I may make you feel, but I can't make you think. Your sperm's in the gutter, your love's in the sink."
 And in a moment when the audience was dazed, almost as if it were a bull, about to be killed by the matador, we lifted up the curtain to expose the Wizard of Oz, the meek, mild, weak puppet master pulling the strings, trying to maintain the illusion of power, and the entire ensemble pulled tiny American flags from our sleeves as we sang "Yankee Doodle Dandy." Familiarity, the audience burst out into a resounding round of applause that didn't stop until more than a minute after we had finished singing the song.

PT XIII:        JOHN DUMPS ON THE GIPPER (HE HE HE HE)

The last John Franklin Ganzer story is this. He is in the hospital in NYC, the AIDS virus has mestastisized into the pnemoniua from which one never recovers. John awakens. The medical staff begins its interogation:
"What's your name?" "John Ganzer." 
"Where are you?" "Hospital in New york City, New York."
"What day of the week is it?" "Tuesday."
"Who's the President?" "Colleen Dewhurst."
I will carry you in my heart, my brother so dear, my brother so fair, unto my last breath, unto my last memory fades, and I emerge, a star burst, perhaps a single drop of rain - perhaps I may become a highway man again; but I'll come back again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again. 

PT XIV:    JOHN FRANKLIN GANZER SOME MORE FINAL
WORDS - ON A GOOD FRIEND
I was so depressed when we went to New York City to celebrate the life of my beloved brother, John, that not even the most overt of the gay guys could bring themselves to console me; it was as if I were the Bermuda Triangle, and they put their very souls at risk by boating too close to my troubled waters. But there was one collegue of John's who did come forward, and in so doing, taught me one of life's most important lessons.
 After the celebration, while munching on crumpets and eating tea, Werner Von Klempf approached me, stretched out h is hand, and said, “I loved your brother as a son; I was in awe of his vocal talent; and I had the highest respect and regards for him as a man.”
 Thank you Werner, too late, for you too are with brother John in that heavenly balcony, watching the grand comedy unfold, and wondering, “where in the WORLD do these writers come up with this stuff?”
 Of Werner, with whom my brother served on the Actor's Equity Council under the most well run Council President, Colleen Dewhurst, John had this to say. “He could be a real horse's ass. When I came to New York City, there were sixty-six dinner theaters. Now, there are but nineteen. What profiteth an actor to have Equity Wages if he cannot find work to pay him those wages?”
 Of course, Werner was wise in the ways of the world, in the ways of management, in the ways of old money, and well knew that a concession today might well lead to a surrender and disorderly retreat tomorrow.
 They were both right. Neither one was wrong. We can agree to disagree, we can agree to be horse's asses unto each other, when speaking truthfully, passionately, about that which we care so much about, and, aside from God, Country, and Family (not necessarily in that order, but, on the other hand, are they not all one and the same?), what can be of more importance to the artisan than the payment he receives for the years spent perfecting his craft?
 God Bless you Both, Brother John, Colonel Klenk. May you clank your glasses together as you drink the finest of wines, sniff the most expensive of brandies, and smoke the most fragrant Cubans together, and watch as the Great Mandella rolls round and round – never repeating exactly, but as always, reveaeling there are no new things under the sun.
IN FOND REMEMBRANCE,
WITH THE GREATEST RESPECT,
AND THE MOST PROFOUND AND DEEP LOVE,
THIS, I GIVE TO YOU, FRERE JAQUES.

PART XV:    A MOST UNUSUAL AND UNLIKELY STORY IS TOLD AT THE NYC MEMORIAL
John and Jay spent a lot of time going to memorial services for AIDS victims (90% of the operatic men, 50% of the theatre men, 10% of the TV men would eventually sucumb in the early days of this mystery killer) and they would rate the various events.  A lot of planning was put into making sure John's would be memorable. Colleen Zenk, good friend that she has always been, spoke at length;  Laurie Beehman sang;  Colleen Dewhurst offered some very rare words, but John was the special to her.  Marianne closed with the service.
 While  munching on refreshments, Jay Poindexter approached me, kind of excited, "Mark, you've got to see this, they are naked on stage."  (O Calcutta! was playing).
 But the most mystical of all the experience was the man whom no one knew, who got up and spoke of John's love of cheese sandwiches, on Wonder white bread, with Miracle Whip, who released a bevy of balloons for "Cheese Sandwich John."
 Did John do this on purpose, and not even tell Jay about it?
That would explain just about all of it.
Good God Almighty!
What a MAN - My Brother John!!

YOUR CORRESPONDENT IS INVITED TO JOIN A
NEW FACEBOOK PAGE: THE POWER OF PRAYER.
A true honor; something I would have wanted, but did not even know existed.
MEDITATION ON FEAR AND BELIEF 

There are some days, sadly few,
but recently more frequently occurring,
when I seem to breech the barrier built by humankind,
ever thicker and ever higher, which prevents us
from sensing the touch and guiding hand of the divine.

But these past few days I've felt, aye, e’en seen,
the hand of the Creator, gently on my shoulder,
guiding me in His pathways.
I do not resist.
I am open to all possibilities.

It was always thus, I believe.
It was always thus, I fear.

In the child's soft fresh openness to the universe,
I believe,
having watched my son grow in wonderment,
grow in delight, and grow in love,
the presence of the Divine surrounds, and glows;
sings beauteous melodies and choral anthems --
the lullaby of the cricket,
the woodpecker's wake up knock,
the call of the gently flowing stream,
the power and grandeur of the lightning bolt.

It was always thus, I believe.
It was always thus, I fear.

I believe for I have seen God's glowing love
reflected in my son's mirthful eyes.

I fear for I remember not my own childhood's wonderment.

I believe, for no other explanation fits the facts --
and this is good.

I fear, for no other explanation fits the facts --
and this is not good --
that I once held the universe in a grain of sand
in my small child hand
and cannot remember.

I believe, for to not believe means
that death conquers all.
And greedily, for to not believe means
that death conquers all.

At one time, I must have known that
love is, was and ever will be the answer.

At one time, I must have chosen to forget that
love is, was and ever will be the answer.

Aye, the world's pleasures and temptations o’er came me.

I believer, I fear.
I fear I believe -- for reasons all wrong.

And to believe for reasons all wrong means
that death conquers all.

And yet,
There are days
When I breach the barrier
And feel the touch of the Divine guiding me.
And I am open, to all possibilities.

I believe, I fear.
I fear, I believe.

And since I cannot reconcile these outliers,
I choose instead
the middle path.

I choose to hope.
To hope to be a follower of The Way.

........Monday, August 28, 2006
........After a weekend in God's country where
........an alien, I was not.

The world is full of wonderful people,
Joyous beyond words, almost,
Learn to forgive yourself,
And then, fall in love all over again
(Agape love, for those of you
(that are married or in a committed relationship.)
These two secrets remain the
Secret to the bottled water of the Fountain of Youth.
Be well, be wary, and always take the time
To make a new best friend, forever!
A M E N!
Grant Me Compassion, Oh Lord,
Above All Else
Grant me compassion oh Lord, above all else
And humility, that I not dare to judge
That I not forget my own foibles
That I strive to give comfort at all times to those in discomfort
And thank You, for the many gifts you have given me
For drawing me back from the edge
When I looked into the abyss
And saw no other way out.

Oh Lord, please grant
That there be Karma on this earth
So that the good that Your good ones do
Shall feed them in their hour of hunger
Shall shelter them from the storms
Shall bind them safely unto their own
That they always know their own,
And their own shall know thee.