Finding Yourself When You Didn’t Even Know You Were Lost

When I was about ten years old I was introduced to the magic of live theatre through a class field trip to the high school drama auditorium, in Paso Robles, Ca. during school hours, to see a special matinee of a traveling production of the play called, “1776”.

It was historical and comedic, and it was amazing! Well, about as amazing of a show that my young mind could fathom at the time. But, it did move me.

I continued on into my young life mostly a pretty good student and hanging around the right people, but from ages 13-15 I started hanging around a bunch of punk kids who thought it would be cool to just be jackasses and ruffle feathers.

For the first time in my educational life I was disregarded.

Because I wore white T-shirts, khaki pants, Pendleton button up shirts and black shoes or winos, I was no longer called on for answers in class, no longer a welcome site for teachers in class or to a new friend’s parents, who would rather their child not hang around me. (Actual statement from a parent to a child about me.) I was a ‘bad kid’ - all due to what I was wearing.

In a way, I understand the reasoning. That “uniform”, coupled with the fact that I was brown skinned put me in a category. A category I really didn’t fit in but gladly accepted as I was trying to find out who I was and what I was going to be here on earth.

But, still… I was just a kid.

I smoked weed, hung out later on school nights, witnessed abusive and illegal physical conflicts between cholos and rednecks and found myself slipping in school.

Prior to this I was an ‘A’ or ‘B’ student. After this, I got my first ‘F’ in 7th grade by Mr England. And he wasn’t nice about it, either, reading my grade out loud to the class as I squirmed in embarrassment (as I was the only one who’d received an ‘F’ in our class).

During this time frame I still maintained my friendship with a friend I’d known since kindergarten, Ward Angles. And when I was fourteen or fifteen years old, I went to see him in a play in the high school production of the show, “You Can’t Take It With You”.

It was my second introduction to the magic of live theatre, and it was funny and comical, and this time I wanted in!

I was growing tired of the way I was being perceived, tired of the so-called ‘friends’ I now had who would turn on you in a heartbeat over a jealous thought. My ‘friends’, whom were trying to lure me away from school grounds to fight me because I innocently danced with a girl at a party whom one of my friends was seeing - they weren’t down with that, and my so called friend was going to kick my ass. (And he would have.)

In all my bravado I had never been a fighter and never wanted to be. But, luckily, I could read their body language and their signals, and I said no to their off campus invite.

That night I went home and took off my cholo uniform for the last time and started dressing like me again. It was the best thing I could have done, and it probably saved my life.

I enrolled in drama in the middle of my freshman year and the drama teacher, Mr Smeltzer, reluctantly added me to his advanced class, since I assume, it was the only class available.

I was cast in the fall production of A Christmas Carol in the ensemble, and choir, as well as The Schoolmaster

“Bring down Master Scrooge’s travel bag, at once,he is to travel!” I bellowed off stage, before making my debut entrance onstage and engaging young Scrooge in a flashback scene.

At the end of the play I showed up as the young poultry deliverer who says, “Here’s the bird you ordered sir!” To a now gracious and giving present day Scrooge. (I can’t believe I remember those lines!).

It was a life-changing moment for me and it, my love of live theatre, was the catalyst for my art mixing in my life - as I was always able to mix work, volunteerism and my love of performing to each other which helped me become a more successful person in life.

Today I was reminded of this part of my life because it was during this time that I met an extremely talented person, a senior named Kyle Morillo.

I was a junior in high school now, and he’d been the guy getting all the great roles in all the great plays. But he was so damned talented, larger than life and yet always gracious - and I learned a lot about theatre and character from watching him.

He was voted ‘most talented in the senior class of ‘82’ that year.

In his senior year, I witnessed the finest performance of Tevye from Fiddler on the Roof, outside of Topol, (the famed actor from Broadway and star of the film role)

Every night I saw him perform this very demanding role as I was Mendel, the Rabbi’s Son.

He was a superstar on that high school stage!

Before the school year was out, Kyle pulled me aside one day and said, “I’ve been watching you and you gotta know that everyone is talking about you”.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

He said, “You’ve got this great voice and you’re a helluva actor, and, if you want it, next year belongs to you!”

I didn’t know how to respond to that, but it was one of the nicest things anyone had ever said to me. People were talking about me? Huh?

I didn’t want to disappoint.

The next year I was a key supporting actor in the first production, lead in the second, and produced, directed and starred in “The Senior Talent Show” and sang at most of the assemblies and special events in town. ...

... and in mid year at school found out I was voted ‘most talented in the senior class of ‘83’.

I found out today that my old high school mentor and wonderful lifelong friend, Kyle Matthew Morillo, had passed away at the young age of 53, earlier this month.

I think most people probably thought I had enough on my plate than to tell me about this huge loss to the county of San Luis Obispo - hell, to the world.

And so, my thoughts drifted to Kyle and our friendship back then ...

He showed me how to not be afraid of being on stage in another person’s skin. How to present yourself and disregard your own physical imperfections, and that, even when you’ve got the flu and you’re throwing up during your brief moments offstage, as Kyle did in Fiddler, that the show must indeed go on.

God bless you, Kyle Matthew Morillo, I will forever treasure your friendship and will hold my memories of you on stage and in my life for forever.

And when you get a chance please say hello to my son, Alex, in Heaven. He’ll be the one who looks a little like me, but much more cuter, and will probably be hanging around with John Lennon…