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The First Time the Son Was Ever on TV

Pierrino Mascarino

    Papa had acted, had been in a college play 30 years ago and had photos arranged, dated and labeled of himself in a plumed tricornered hat in a French play called Le Bourgeois Gentlehomme—wearing a dashing sword.
    On opening night, he fearfully waited in the wings of the little college auditorium for hisentrance in that St. Viator’s College, French club production, his shoe insides were slick with footsweat—heart pounding horribly, trembling; and, worse yet, the words—“Je sui”, the archaic French began, but there was a lots more.
    But once on stage, he quited himself; and, even with a frozen tongue, and palpitations, spoke appropriately—a tremendous victory over his own constant fear of public humiliation.
    The play was only seen by the Francophone faculty; but, and most important, it was in the Kankakee Daily Journal paper. The only newspaper near Saint Viator’s, a tiny liberal arts college in the very tiny Bourbonais, Illinois. Not only reviewed, but Papa’s full name was prominently mentioned. The reviewer could not comment further because he could not understand the old French.
    But proof! this was proof that Papa had had significant theatrical experience, even been recognized in a newspaper, photographed in costume, and, most important, had overcome his terrible stage fright in a magnificent display of undaunted personal courage, rarely seen in the modern world.
    This heroic moment glowed in his memory, nothing compared, Hindenburg, Social Security, VG day, VJ, nothing could come close.
    The review was photostatted, many and more copies were made, Papa mailed them out to friends and relatives in victorious celebration and of that luminous moment of blinding theatrical fame; and as his pride reached an absolutely unendurable peak, he sent out enlarged, expensive 8X10s with that Kankakee Daily Journal review as photographic and written proof of his triumph.
    He had received the Vittoria Veneto medal as a Sergeant-Major, Artillery instructor and combatant in WWI which was nothing compared to this. Not Rudolph Valentino, nor Clark Gable, actors on Broadway, none had ever had, as Papa had, to overcome that pulverizing fear of public humiliation.
    He never dared repeat this triumph, once was plenty.
    He noticed in the following years, that his young son followed in his thespian footsteps and had been acting in many University and Community Theater productions—nothing nearly to equal the St. Viator’s extravaganza of course, but, “a pleasant but unprofeetable hohbby.”
    It is amazing how one’s own efforts dwarf the feeble attempts of others.
    He advised his son concerning further theatrical ambitions, “You weel nevair make money. No, you don need to go to New York to study de fahncy acting. Eeeet es just a harmless hobby. I have told our relateeve een Italy a flattering lie, dat you have graduated and you are now teaching chemistry een a university.”
    This made the sun feel humiliated that his father had to lie for him. Of course no mere son of a great father could hope to ever exceed such a blinding success as at St. Viator’s anyway.
    But the stubborn son very slowly worked his way up from hitchhiking to unpaid university, and community theatre finally to paid off-Broadway, highly paid Broadway, movies and then television, trivial, of course, in comparison to Papa’s own St. Viator’s triumph.
    When Papa heard the son was still, “wasting time weet dis hohby,” he sent the son yet another copy of the famous Kankakee Daily Journal newspaper review to remind him of real theatrical glory and then retired from teaching in Chicago for an extended stay back in Italy.
    The son was finally on national television in The Edge of Night. By then Papa had returned from Italy to live in Florida.
    On the vigil of an important episode the son called his Papa, “Please watch The Edge of Night on Wednesday. I’m gonna get a lot of close-ups.”
    The son could hardly sleep the night before: he would make Papa proud—perhaps this had even been Papa’s dream when he was a young man? It would be a glory to the family name and the next day at the T.V. studio working with already famous actors in front of the camera, his heart was beating, his mouth dry thinking, this is for my Papa. This will show the world what a wonderful son Papa produced. All those lies Papa had to tell for me to the relatives in Italy.
    And finally as the huge camera dollied in thrillingly close for several extreme close-ups: the son was thinking with great joy, Papa’s now thrilled seeing me, his own son’s face broadcast all over the universe. What excitement it must be for him! He never thought I would amount to anything. How happy and congratulatory Papa will be when I call, at last he can be proud of me after all these years of tedious hard work, between jobs, living in the Detroit slums, and devastating disappointment.
    After immediately the television soap opera taping he rushed to a payphone with a large mound of change—very expensive calling call Papa all the way in Florida during expensive daytime hours, but he couldn’t wait; and, dialing, he worried, had Papa really been able to watch? Papa didn’t like T.V. much. Had Papa gotten the channel right?
    “Haylo,” answered his father’s 73 year old heavily accented Italian voice.
    “Papa, did you see it?”
    “Yes.”
    “What did you think?”
    An unendurable silence. Papa must still be very moved by seeing his son succeed, his little passarotu’s name, their family name in the credits.
    The son waited.
    Papa finally said in a distracted voice, “Eh, try to stand straighter ahnd pool your collar up in back.”
    After a few days the son received yet another copy of the Kankakee Daily Journal review of Papa in the Le Bourgeois Gentlehomme, this time with yet another 8X10.

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