In Ohio, the famous State
Theater glows beside
Lake Erie. It has been
open from Vaudeville and
the Depression to this
very end of the 20th century.
A crowd of bright colors
bent to the ticket windows
to pay twenty dollars
each and go inside. What
brought us there too was
the mothlike appearance
of the Smothers Brothers.
Jostling among the senior
citizens for a while, we
hoped for a white haired
scalper or tickets to
fall somehow on marble floor.
When we were alone,
everyone was deep inside
the theater watching the
red curtains and gold
carvings, we decided to
sneak in.
Around the corner, we found a gray
service door
propped open with a little block
of wood.
I opened it only scarcely and saw red
uniforms
dressed like decoys weighted down in
chairs
in the hallway. Also, a man with thick
black glasses
had spotted me and was bearing down
like one of
Roosevelt’s dreadnoughts.
I hopped backwards and
scooped my wife’s hand.
We hurried down the
length of theater and around
into the parking lot. I
looked back over my shoulder
and saw the door just
beginning to open, slowly.
We were safe. A dangerous
looking fire escape
clung to all the bricks
running towards the roof.
We could hear applause
washing inside the theater.
Past the next corner at
the side of the wall, we
discovered a stage door
there. We were so close
we listened to the
heavily bolted metal and heard
the familiar guitar and
bass and voices from records.
I put my hand on the door
and for a few seconds
considered what would
happen if I opened it.
(Bird Dog Press, 2009). A few posts ago
in 1975 Diary #1, I mentioned watching
The Smothers Brothers Show. This story
is about how close I came to meeting them. 
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