Key West, I’ve always believed, is the kind of all-accepting place that allows people the freedom to decide who they want to be in life — and the support to become that person. But even Key West’s magic couldn’t make me an actress.
Of course I didn’t realize that. After all, my college major was theater. In high school, I had played Mrs. Webb in “Our Town” and the goddess Atalanta in an avant-garde musical.
So on the island that was home to the acclaimed Waterfront Playhouse and the ground-breaking Red Barn Theatre — where world-renowned playwright and Key West resident Tennessee Williams held court in local bars — surely I could stride confidently across a stage and amaze audiences with my talent.
(Spoiler alert: That didn’t actually happen.)
The year was 1980, when the Tennessee Williams Fine Arts Center opened with the world premiere of the playwright’s “Will Mr. Merriwether Return from Memphis?” Williams himself was personally involved in the staging, giving the play substantial importance in the theatrical world.
While a talented cast rehearsed “Mr. Merriwether,” a drama filled with loneliness and ghosts, I was rehearsing for a less distinguished production. Somehow I had managed to wangle a place in a dinner-theater improv troupe run by creative partners Tim and Bob.
Like most locals back then, the partners almost certainly had last names, but no one knew what they were. This was not unusual for Key West, where using last names was regarded as unnecessary (and in some illicit professions, a serious breach of etiquette).
So Bob was simply “Bob the playwright” and Tim was “Tim the improv guy,” and that was identification enough.
Tim’s wife Nancy acted as our stage manager, though we didn’t actually have a stage. Nor did we have elaborate sets or a defined script. Instead, we improvised our way through a loosely structured scenario written by Bob. Each of us portrayed multiple characters, with sets and costumes suggested by minimalist props and wearable accessories.
The scenario spoofed hard-boiled crime capers that recalled the era of Sam Spade. My primary role was “the Woman in Black,” a slinky femme fatale who wreaked havoc while the detective hero tried to unravel the criminal proceedings.
Our favorite performance venue was a restaurant called Tux, known for its wonderful food and elegant black-and-white tile floor. It stood at the corner of Duval and Fleming streets in a building owned by David Wolkowsky, the visionary who developed the Pier House resort.
Wolkowsky, who I remember walking around town with a ghost-gray Weimaraner, was a cultured gentleman and a great patron of the arts. Renowned for throwing elite parties in his penthouse above Tux, he must have attended the premiere of “Mr. Merriwether.” His interest in the arts didn’t extend to improvisational dinner theater, however, so we never spotted him in our audiences.
Instead, our production attracted the bar and restaurant crowd. Admittedly, the real attraction might have been Tux’s signature shrimp with remoulade sauce, starring on the evening menu and acclaimed as the best shrimp dish in Key West.
It was so good that sometimes, in the midst of the Woman in Black’s vain attempts to seduce the hero, I had to shout my lines above the chatter of patrons praising the sauce.
The Tux experience wasn’t a contributing factor, but eventually it became clear that acting wasn’t my destiny. Yet that didn’t destroy my belief in Key West’s intrinsic ability to help people choose and achieve theirs.
After all, the island has inspired and nurtured talents ranging from artist Mario Sanchez and mystery novelist Tom Corcoran to singer-songwriter Jimmy Buffett. And even today, a whole new crop of creatives is benefiting from its magical influence.
