So…here’s my plan:
Nearly everyone who knew Barry Vancura knew that he was all about Christmas. He loved shopping for gifts, getting just the right gift for everyone on his list–which was extensive, getting “a deal” on the items which met his exacting criteria, decorating for the holiday (What ? You think that he didn’t have a hand–or at least a sticky finger or two on the fandango of baubles and greens which adorned my house on both Christmas Walks?). He liked entertaining at Christmas–Christmas Eve, Christmas Eve eve, whatever–with crisp linens, polished silver, sparkling glasses, delicious food, his electronic piano tinkling away in a corner sometimes, finger foods out in the enclosed porch, the cat sometimes totally antisocial if these strange people came to her house, disrupting her routine, at least two parties going on at once–in the front, in the back, upstairs, downstairs; the ornaments were heirloom quality (Shiny Brite– vintage Grandma Cooper),each one precisely placed by hand on each of the trees (the number varied, depending on the available space.), antique-look nativity scenes surrounded by greenery, lit by battery candles. Quite the display.
Display was what he did best. I had lamps that magically appeared on my mantel, in the back half-bath, over the dining room table, in the middle of the living room ceiling (came with the house, circa 1927, cleaned and polished to promote the last-century ambience),shedding a Tiffany-style glow in the back room when the evening came. He wasn’t real crazy about some of my “heirlooms”–the cowbells, maybe, or the professional-quality tambourine–but he figured with enough greens and velvet bows nobody would notice.
So…anyway…what happened to all of this decor? Well, bless his heart, Matt Ryser stashed it away after the last apartment had been cleared , then asked me what should be done with the many items filling his storage space. Darned if I know, was my initial reaction. But now I have an idea (always a dangerous proposition).
Mark July 9 on your calendar. Barry’s birthday was on July 8 and on the following day there will be a gathering on the front lawn of the Y, featuring a food truck (the Sloppy Dawg) and as much of the Christmas stuff–boxes of ornaments, nativity scenes, Christmas villages, etc– as can be hauled up there, and it will all be for sale, or more correctly, on offer for a donation. Ya pays yer money, ya takes yer choice. “Put another nickel in, in the nickelodeon. All I want is…” Oops, wrong song. Anyway, any funds collected will go to make a donation in aid of the music & drama activities in JA Garfield High School (and in the Iva Walker Auditorium, too, what a coincidence!). There will be a plaque with his name on it. Maybe the comedy/tragedy masks too, though the only real tragedy has been his loss.
Everybody who comes can just sit around and talk, remembering shows that they saw him in or shows that they were in with him, or shows where he was my set designer/decorator (anybody remember the Foo Dogs he made out of styrofoam, duct tape and gold paint?), my choreographer (five…six…seven…eight…shimmy, shimmy, shimmy, jazz hands, jazz hands!), my communicator with the musicians (They actually knew what they were doing; I mostly just hummed along. They could count too–not my thing), the designer of great finales and curtain calls. The stage was his thing–we won’t even go into the movies, though he did bring back some kool items from the studio back lots–which he used to decorate his apartment when it was on the Christmas Walk.
So that’s my thought. Anybody got a better idea? We shall not see his like again soon but you can have your very own souvenir and relive some old memories. Barry would have loved that; he remembered all sorts of stuff that nobody else did and would tell it too, at the drop of a hat; what he didn’t remember, he made up. It was often better than the original.
July 9, 2023–Got it ?
