Charley Hascal: One More Show

Dusk.

Throughout the inner city the natural warm refreshing light of an early summer sun was fading quickly, being replaced by the magical brilliance of city lights.

The heat and humidity which during the day time hours had risen so high making the out doors unbearable even for a short time, now with the return on night slowly dropped.

Within the center of this city, indeed within its very heart, there was, flanked on all sides by the industry and commerce that kept this city alive, a park.

Traffic moved in a continuous flow around the city's park as each person sought to gain an early departure from the confines of the inner city.

This park took its name from the name of that city that surrounded it. And as that city flourished and thrived, so to did its park, filled with those who had come to enjoy its beauty. Throughout the years this park had taught children games, had given away many, many wonderful memories of sun filled days in play, which though now long since past, still brought smiles to the faces of those children, now grown and gone who had once played in the park.

But as that city suffered and failed under the grips of recession, so to did her park suffer, to the point where none would come save those who had no other recourse open to them but the park. Now No longer the second home for families or friends, who would come to spend the day in laughter and good fun, this park was now the last place of hope for a few of the cities most needy, the poor and homeless.

Positioned where he had been for the past three days there on one of the park benches, sitting, watching, as all around him this city, as well as the world, continued living and moving onward, seemingly not noticing or acknowledging his existence, sat Charley Hascal.

Neither bitterness nor anger entered his thoughts as he watched the usual scene of a Friday night unfold before him.

Though the temperature was still high, this old man wore an overcoat, knowing well from experience just how cool and windy the summer night could get.

Charley sat back on his bench and watched the sights of the city workers hurrying out of the city to their individual destinations, and laughed to himself as he thought of a joke he had once heard. It was a rather good one he thought.

Gradually the light of the sun, now streaking the sky above in marvelous shades of red and purple, disappeared completely behind the low mountains to the West of the city.

The light of the sun had faded now, as were most of the people who worked in this city, leaving only the poor and lower income to remain trapped within the city itself.

Now came that part of the day when the questions of what and where to eat were dropped, and the main thought became where to sleep.

Removing his coat and balling it up into a pillow, the old man placed it at one end of his bench. It was now time for bed.

Quietly Charley bid this city, and someone he once knew good night. Then with a last fluff of his pillow, Charley laid down to rest for the night.

"Charley? Charley Hascal?"

The old man lifted himself up to see whom it was calling him and disturbing his sleep.

Charley saw a man well into his later years walking slowly from the East side of the park toward his bench.

"Hey, Charley! It's me, Joe!" The man exclaimed as he walked up to Charley. Seeing no sign of recognition in Charley's face the old man added. "It's me, Joe Brown! You remember, don't you?"

After a few seconds of searching his memories, Charley finally remembered the man who was walking toward him.

"Charley Hascal! What a surprise seeing you!" Joe exclaimed as he took Charley's hand and shook it vigorously. "What have you been doing with yourself all these years? Man, it must be what, ten, fifteen years since I last saw you!"

Charley nodded his head and shrugged his shoulders in reply to his show business friend's questions.

"Hey, you remember that time in Cleveland, after that show we did for the local Rotary's? Boy, those were some wild times, huh Charley!"

"Yeah." Charley replied. And for the first time in a very long time set his mind to thinking about the old days, when things were greatly different, and he was somebody. When he was Charley Hascal, the best there ever was.

The two men sat on that park bench and, if for only a brief time in talking and reminiscing, brought back happier times, when their lives were perhaps harder, but yet, more enjoyable than today.

They laughed and they joked.

They told stories and brought each other up to date on the lives of old friends not seen in many years, and remembered fondly those who had left this life.

They continued to talk as the stars in the heavens began to take over the night time sky.

Sharply there came a tap on the back of Charley's bench.

It was a police officer waking his beat.

"Come on pops, no sleeping in the park tonight." The officer said as he motioned with his stick for Charley to move on and leave the park. "Let's get home. It's time for a guy like you to be in bed."

Charley simply nodded his head and mumbled a reply that the officer did not hear or bother to hear.

"Where are you going, Charley?" Joe asked as Charley got up from the bench and put his coat on.

"Home." Charley replied, then looked around for a new place to spend the night.

With the thought of finding someplace else to sleep in his mind, Charley wished his friend good night, and began to slowly walk off toward the South of the park.

Not understanding what the old man was mumbling about, the police officer waited and watched until Charley left his park then turned and continued his patrol.

Alone on the sidewalk Charley traveled for a time, not seeing or noticing anything that he passed, as his mind wondered in thoughts of old.

He continued walking until he reached the Southern part of the city.

There, below the yellowish pale light of a street lamp he found a bench, used by those who would wait for a bus and sat himself down.

He was tired, very tired. He had walked farther tonight than he had ever walked in one journey, nearly to the edge of the city itself.

As he rested his head against the back of the bench, his gaze went across the street to the building that stood before him.

Old, dilapidated, and dark was the building that stood before him, its windows covered over with wood, its doors chained and bolted shut.

The building he was gazing at was once the brightest spot in the whole city, with its billboards and facade covered in glowing lights. This building, once home to all the great talents that would come from far and wide to perform upon its giant stage, was now only a shadow of its former self.

THE PARAMOUNT!

It was the place to perform. It was the place to be seen. It was where everything happened. It was where everyone went. It was no more.

A smile came to Charley's face as he remembered the first time he performed in that beautiful building. He could still hear the laughter and cheers of the people ringing through his ears.

His memories now sparked by the sight of the old building, Charley left his place on the bench; then walked across the street towards the building he once knew so well.

On a closer inspection of the front of the building, Charley found the old ticket office window through which he could still peek through the darkness and decay and catch a glimpse of what once was.

All the posters of the many stars, the many shows, stood piled against the inner wall of the ticket office. The top poster was none other than that poster the Paramount had printed up for its bicentennial show of 1976.

Charley smiled as he saw it.

Though faded and discolored from being wet he could still, in the dim light of the street lamps, read the announcement the poster proclaimed. And in the middle of that poster he saw that which brought him the most happiness. He saw his name.

He was the star performer for the Paramount's Bicentennial show.

It was not his most acclaimed show. He had performed in larger houses, and for more worldly important people than those who had attended this show. But this show was special to him. Special in that this, this old dilapidated building was where he began his career in comedy. These were his friends and neighbors. They were his family.

It was the first live performance he had given anywhere since his departure for Hollywood and the movies.

It would sadly, however, be the last time he would ever perform anywhere again.

Just a few weeks after his triumph at the Paramount, his life quickly collapsed all around him.

The worst blow came at the conclusion of investigations into his financial affairs. The government filed charges demanding payment of back taxes of more than thirteen million dollars.

He was in his late sixties then, and to someone as broke and penniless as he had become, the amount may just as well have been a billion dollars.

He could never pay them.

As recourse for payment, the government, which Charley had entertained during many political, social dinners and gatherings, took all that was his, house, car, land, and through sale, regained some of what they felt was theirs.

Charlene, his wife, died before his troubles with the government started. He would never have wanted her to see all that they had lost.

With his heart low, as he thought of these memories, Charley began to walk down the sidewalk toward the left of the building.

Reaching the corner of the building, he turned and glancing down the dark alleyway saw the back stage door to the theater that he and his fellow performers had used so many years ago.

Though the alleyway was dark and held many places that might hide danger for the foolish who wondered to near, Charley, without thinking of this, walked slowly down the alleyway toward the back stage door.

Reaching the door he saw the signs that covered it by a city poster declaring this building unsafe and marked for demolition by this city.

The theater had served through its useful years, and the city was eager to destroy it in hopes of raising a new, better, and more up-to-date facility for its public.

Charley felt no anger, nor loss at this.

A wreaking ball, or a small group of people calling for what they thought was progress could never steal the memories this place had given him, the friends, the happiness, and the laughter.

Just for the sake of trying it, Charley turned the handle on the door, and was surprised when the door swung open, allowing him entrance for one last time.

Inside he could see nothing.

It was pitch black beyond the step of the back door where he stood.

Eager for the chance to enter and look around the old building, Charley searched his pants and coat pockets for his cigar lighter.

In the last place he searched, the inner pocket of his coat he found his gold lighter.

Holding his lighter out and above him, Charley slowly entered through the back door, carefully watching his step so he would not trip or fall.

Pale flecks of flickering light down across the small hallway he was now standing in.

Several feet inward and to his left Charley came across the old door that led to the main star's dressing room. Gone was the golden colored star that had hung on the door for so many well-known celebrities, having been removed or stolen in the past few years, leaving only the outline of its shape as a reminder of its presence.

Down the hallway Charley continued to walk, slowly making his way through the hall cluttered with many of the old props and sets used by the theater during its time.

He passed a scene from Mary Poppins, some old tables and chairs, and several racks of costumes.

As he passed through these old items, long since used, he began to wonder, however improbable it was, if they still had his old high backed leather chair that he used so often in his shows here.

From that moment on Charley started searching for that chair, his chair, that he had used all those years ago.

Quietly he searched through the clutter of items thrown into the hallway, all the while making his way closer to the stage.

As he tracked through the props and scenes of other shows he recalled to himself the performers, both famous and unknown, who had performed those roles.

Nearing the end of the hallway, with still yet no sign of his chair, Charley quickly turned to face behind him, and for a long time starred into the darkness as he thought he heard some movement from where he thought he had just passed.

Lifting his lighter higher, he could see nothing in the dim light but what he had seen before of props and scenery.

Trying to shake off the feeling that someone was watching him, Charley backed away from where he was standing, and with a shock at first, as he had not been expecting it, walked into the curtain.

Groping for the slit in the curtain, Charley clumsily made his way out from behind the curtain and out onto the stage.

There on center stage, lighted in the dim light of his cigar lighter, was Charley's chair, just as he remembered it all those years ago.

Slowly walking over to it he turned his eyes out towards the seats, and in his mind could still picture the faces of those he had entertained during his life.

With the anticipation of a child on Christmas eve, Charley approached his chair. He paused for a moment to feel the familiar texture of the chair. Happily he sat down in it.

Charley sat for a moment as he reaccustomed himself with the feel of his chair.

Finally, as he began to feel comfortable, Charley spoke out to the darkness around him.

"Now, where's my cigar? You know I can't do my show without my cigar. Who took it?"

It seemed to Charley the stillness and soft creaking of the old building was trying to answer him.

After the long walk and the journey through the hallway, Charley yawned and slowly rested his head back against the high back of his chair.

Darkness.

Within that sea of darkness, though, there was life, coming forth from every corner with the sounds and movements of many.

Slowly, after a short time the sounds and movements began to quiet themselves, as a great anticipation began to grow in the air.

The voice spoke:

"Good evening ladies and gentlemen and welcome to the Paramount's bicentennial celebration! The management and staff here at the Paramount wish to extend to you, and your families, their wishes for a safe and enjoyable fourth of July. Here now, ladies and gentlemen, to help us celebrate the two hundredth birthday of our nation, please welcome, for one show only, the undisputed king of comedy, Mr. Charley Hascal!!"

The audience responded with great applause as a spot light flashed its white light down upon an old brown leather high back chair.

After pausing for just a second, to give the moment a bit of suspense, the long, deep blue curtain at the back of the stage parted at the middle. And standing there in the middle of the stage, bathed in the bright light of the spot lights was Charley Hascal.

The crowd cheered with applause and friends shouted as Charley stood for a moment where he was lighting his cigar and smiling at his audience.

Finally, when he felt the time was right, Charley moved forward and as he slowly took his seat the applause and cheering seemed to halt all at once, as all waited anxiously now to hear what good old Charley Hascal had come to talk about.

Charley sat for a moment, puffing on his cigar and waving to a few friends he could see in his audience.

Finally the moment had come, that moment when Charley would, in that simple and easy style of his, begin one of his stories.

He began.

And then it all began to flow, the laughs, the cheers, the applause.

Somewhere, between the silly and the true, surrounded by a laugh and a smile, the worries, the fears, the tensions and troubles of a world outside, seemed, for those few brief moments lost and forgotten as the sounds of laughter and joy prevailed over all.

Darkness.

Silence.

Emptiness.

Into the darkness of the old Paramount theater a bobbing circle of light penetrated, searching from side to side looking around the corners and into the vacant rooms.

Pushing its way through the back stage curtain the light flashed from one end of the stage to the other, returning quickly after it passed over it to the large leather chair.

"We've got one in here, Ted!" A voice called out into the darkness behind it.

The voice belonged to a demolition worker, whose job it was now, was to search through the building, making certain no one was inside before they started demolishing the building.

Walking over to the chair Sammy Moore reached out and felt for a pulse on the old man's arm.

There still was one.

Gently he shook the old man, and explained that he had to leave with him now.

"You're in the old theater, the Paramount, pops." Sammy answered Charley's confused look as he gazed about himself with a glassy vague expression. "You're pretty lucky, pops. You're going to be the last person to see the inside of this old building. Come on."

Sammy put Charley's arm over his shoulder and helped walk him back toward the hallway, flashing his light in front of them as they walked.

"Did you hear that Steve?" Charley asked the man walking with him, mistaking the younger man for an old show business friend of his who in their youths might have resembled Sammy.

Charley turned his head to look back toward the audience, almost as if to see if they were still there.

"We did it Steve. We sure did it."

Sammy turned Charley to face back toward the rear of the stage not paying much notice to his words.

"We sure made them laugh, didn't we Steve?" Charley said with a smile.

The demolition crews began their work once the two were clear of the building. They wasted little time in bringing the old structure down to the ground.

Two days later a small article appeared in the back pages of the local newspaper. The headline for this short article read: Charley Hascal, Dead at age 79.

THE END