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Message: <br /><br /> If you are having trouble reading this email, you may view this article online at: http://www.jweekly.com/34018/full/34018/shop-with-the-wife-sit-around-i-ll-take-the-stage/ <br /><br /> <b>Shop with the wife? Sit around? I’ll take the stage</b> <br /> Friday, December 14, 2007 | by <p>jerry stevenson </p> <br /><br /><p>Two months before I closed my store Mr. T, in Jerusalem, a buddy of mine invited me to join him for a directors, writers and actors workshop in Tel Aviv sponsored by the Tel Aviv Community Theater. <br /><br /> The truth was, this offer came at just the right time. I was very worried about going into one of those retirement depressions.<br /><br /> I had seen this happen to many of my friends. Suddenly one has nothing to do, nowhere to go. “I’ve lost my identity,” one man moans. His wife tries to be helpful.  “Why don’t you come shopping with me, dear?” she suggests.  <br /><br /> I just was not going to let this phenomenon happen to me. <br /><br /> So there I was a week later, in a small room at the Tel Aviv Museum Library, watching a couple struggle through a small scene from “The Audition” by Neil Simon. It was a pathetic first reading. <br /><br /> Next! Suddenly I was called on to read from a scene by James Thurber. I was beyond-belief atrocious. I wanted to slink out the door and head back to Jerusalem. <br /><br /> Most of us were catastrophic that night. There were a few, however, who had had some acting schooling somewhere, or had been in numerous amateur productions in Israel and abroad. They, on the other hand, were quite impressive.  <br /><br /> I felt that I should have acted better. After all, I have an MFA from UCLA, which has one of the top acting and film programs in the world. I had worked for the Israel Broadcasting Authority as a producer and writer. But, alas, that was more than 30 years ago. <br /><br /> Back then I was another person. TodayI was a boring businessman, and tonight I stunk out the joint.  <br /><br /> At the end of this first evening, we were informed that the workshop was leading toward a proper showcase production to be performed in front of a live audience two months from now. I said to myself, “There is no way I can do this.”<br /><br /> I hadn’t been on stage, as an actor, for more than 50 years.<br /><br /> Like a bolt from who-knows-where, I had one of those Sholem Aleichem, Tevye the Milkman moments. <br /><br /> I had a silent discussion with myself.  <br /><br /> If I quit the workshop, it’s “why don’t you go shopping with me dear?” But if I stick it out, I will make new friends and challenge my creative juices. <br /><br /> On the other hand, “I’m a terrible actor and I will only make a complete fool of myself.” <br /><br /> On the other <br /><br /> hand, “Where’s your courage, Stevenson? Go for it!”<br /><br /> Two months later, I performed a monologue on- stage at Beit Yad Labanim in front <br /><br /> of 300 people. I <br /><br /> wrote it. It was based on Paddy Chayefsky’s script written for the Movie Network. <br /><br /> I put an Israeli twist to it. The producer of the evening felt I should be the last act to perform that night. I wasn’t sure if this was because she wanted to end the show with a bang or because I was just that bad.  <br /><br /> However, I did know that I had to wait for all my colleagues to finish their nine scenes before I did mine. It was torture waiting for everyone to finish. When it was my turn, I was ready and bursting with confidence.  <br /><br /> I was a giant, wound-up spring waiting to attack. I was a thoroughbred at the starting block. I was “mad as hell” and I wasn’t going to take it any longer.  <br /><br /> The audience loved it. And me, well, I felt as if I had just completed the Boston Marathon for the first time, or just conducted Beethoven’s Ninth.  <br /><br /> The entire evening was a smashing success. Tel Aviv Community Theater (TACT) had yet another exciting production under its belt. <br /><br /> At Chanukah, TACT produced the musical “Cinderella,” with outrageous slapstick, music and plenty of audience participation. I played Major Domo, a minor character, but I also sang and danced in the chorus. <br /><br /> I know with certainty that my past with Mr.  T is history.  Now I wake up in the morning and belt out, “There’s no business like show business.” One thing’s for sure: I feel like a young, energetic, freshman all over again. <br /><br /> <br><br /><br /> <b>Jerry Stevenson</b> is a former California resident who owned Mr. T Israel Army Navy surplus and T-shirt company in Jerusalem for 30 years. </p> <p> </p>

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