
Pres. Irwin introduced the speaker this way: Louisiana playwright Tennessee Williams once said that America only has three cities: New York, San Francisco and New Orleans; everywhere else is Cleveland, and today’s speaker, Douglas Nelson, has lived in all three, and recalled a Pink Floyd concert in Cleveland. (Douglas’ words, Irwin said.) He continued: Douglas was born in Baton Rouge and lived there and in New Orleans; after he’d finished his undergraduate degree in theatre at Washington and Lee University in Virginia, he moved to New York “so he could learn how to wait tables.” In 2006 he and his wife moved to San Francisco and, in 2013, to Moss Beach. On his Web site of bpnelson.com.douglas, he claims to a few careers: claims to have acted off-Broadway, worked at Wall Street, built a couple of businesses, written songs and recorded three albums, and cooked in a Michelin-rated restaurant. “It’ll be interesting to see if anything he says is true,” Irwin quipped, and the listeners laughed before applauding.
Douglas started by paraphrasing the Bard – “All the world’s a stage, all the men and women merely players; they have their exits and their entrances, and one man in his time plays many parts;” his acts being seven pages. The first, an infant, mewling and puking in the nurse’s arms, then the whining schoolboy with a satchel and shining morning face creeping like a snail unwillingly to school, then the lover, sighing like a furnace with a wilful ballad made to his mistress’ eyebrow, then a soldier full of strange oaths and bearded like a pirate, jealous in honor and sudden and quick in quarrel, seeking a buckled reputation even in the cannon’s mouth. Then the justice with fair round belly and good capon line, with eyes sever and beard of formal cut, full of wise saws and modern instances. And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts into the lean and slippered pantaloon, his youthful hose well-saved, a world too wide for his shrunk shank; his big manly voice turning again to childish treble, pipes and whistles in his sound. Last scene of all that ends this strange and eventful history: his second childishness, in weird oblivion, sans (“without,” in French) teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything. Club members applauded.
Douglas continued, that he’d been crossing the fulcrum into moving into Act Three of life; the bearded pirate, justice, he’d had a few lives and it’s been interesting reinventing himself from time to time. His undergrad degree was in theatre; he has valued the arts, though it wasn’t until college that he thought he might be an artist because “I grew up with you guys,” a legacy Rotarian though he hadn’t been to a meeting in 50 years. His father was a Rotarian in Baton Rouge and he always liked that Tennessee Willims quote because it made him feel good about himself; he was from that neck of the woods, Louisiana guy, and liked mid-century dramatic theatre; Williams, Arthur Miller, “All My Sons” one of his favorites.
He said he was thinking what he might say and still didn’t really know, “but we’ll see how it goes.” He pondered what lessons he’d learned in life. Starting in New Orleans, he went to school in the French Quarter, near St. Louis Cathedral, the center of the quarter; he recalled going to the teacher in the second grade, to say that they had candy back there; the teacher looked squarely at him and said, “you know, if they’d given you some you would not have come up here.” He thought that that meant that all have sinned and fallen short of the mark and he wasn’t above that. He thought Jesus put it well: Just don’t be an asshole” though he was not sure what translation that was.
Half Moon Bay, CA 94019
United States of America