Journal entry, 4/6/98 Bay Area Theater Critic’s Circle Award

4/6/98 I was ambivalent about going to the Bay Area Theater Critic’s Circle Awards at the Palace of Fine Arts in San Francisco. I doubt that Neil would’ve understood if I didn’t show up. Was I so important? It’s just that I don’t like being part of the dog-and-pony show. Frank McGuinness’s play, Observe the Sons of Ulster Marching Towards the Somme racked in the awards. Naomi Gibson won Best Director for the season’s run, and Sons won Best Ensemble, that’s everybody, the entire cast. Wow. Gary Mullan flew up from LA, he was Neil‘s understudy, and took over the part after Neil’s accident.

Nearly everybody in the cast was at the event, except for Seamus who was in New York. It was great to see the old gang again. Someone said it was like doing the show all over again, that same feeling of camaraderie. At the awards, Larry Spears, Naomi’s husband, said, though we are a new theater group, we are here to stay.  

We all went out to Kate O’Brien‘s Pub afterwards. After all, this is where the play was originally staged. They put Naomi on the bar and she gave a speech, I can’t remember what all was said for the Guinness and the champagne were flowing. She gave another incoherent speech on a stool, and an Aran Islander, too drunk to stand, interrupted her every word.

We had a fabulous rooting squad, lots of us showed up, people whose names I didn’t even know, but I remember their faces. Some woman named Patricia remembered my name, so though we were injured, I must’ve made an impression. She asked if I was part of the Exit Theater group and I said no. Maybe it was a Verona connection? No. It didn’t matter. We drank to the stars.

Larry? Or someone at hired a stretch limousine and we all piled in taking turns cruising around the block. Going nowhere, other than in circles. Perne in a gyre. Such ridiculous fun. We told Gary that he was going to be next at the Oscars, and so he picks up the bar tab. 

I got a chance to talk with Gary’s girlfriend, whom he is thinking of leaving. I liked her. And I said to Gary, you must choose. Either you want your freedom, or you’re committed. I expected him to leave her, but he’s sticking it out. I’ve got to admire him for that. When I told him about my imbroglio with Neil, having left him on Ash Wednesday—thinking I never see him again, and yet here we are. He said these things have a way of working themselves out. I’m not so sure.