By Rick Abbot
Community play review by Wanda Swenson
Kudos to Bernie Davis and the cast of “Play On” for a delightful presentation and an afternoon of laughs. If you were not able to attend this community presentation or just didn’t take the time to go on either Thursday night or Sunday afternoon, you missed out on a healthy dose of fun.
This was a lighthearted spoof on what a theater group goes through while trying to prepare a play for opening night when the playwright is sitting in the wings making changes until the day before the curtain opens. It was pretty close to what really goes on when you are working with so many different personalities and situations.
I am amazed every year how well the characters are cast by Bernie. Knowing the community people as we do, it is interesting that the parts fit them so well. These actors had a ton of lines to learn for the three acts, and many times the lines were altered only a little from act to act. I’m pretty sure some of the dialogue was improvised, which made the play even more humorous.
Carrie Howard was hilarious as good and decent Polly Benish acting as “Lady Margaret.” She never broke character, even when things on stage got a little rambunctious, and she delivered her lines with the indignation becoming of royalty.
Jack Davis stole the show several times with his costuming choices. He puts the audience in stitches every year with his uninhibited portrayal of characters. It is evident he supports his wife’s efforts towards community involvement and wants her and the performances to succeed.
Chelsea Wenzel as Gerry Dunbar, the director, was spot on with her dictatorial and frustrated performance. I have directed plays, albeit middle school productions, and I can tell you, Ms. Wenzel did not underestimate the anxiety felt by directors as they get close to the final performance.
The Woonsocket School must be an interesting place to work from day to day if it is to be judged by the teachers who lent their talents to this play. The boisterous and bumbling sound, light and scene technician played by Jason Bruce, the meek but furtive, Brett Kroeger as “Lord Dudley,” and Armondo Rodriguez as the juvenile and immature Stephen Sellers were comical, madcap and kept the funny lines coming.
Veterans of the stage, Tom and Anita Fouberg were very believable as Diana Lassiter, the prim and proper ingénue, and Dr. Rex Forbes, an arrogant, irritated, man-in-charge kind of guy. They maintained the decorum of their characters, even when those characters were doing odd and inappropriate things.
Playwright Phyllis Montague, played by April Larson, perfectly maintained her character’s demeanor as the creative victim, and Sherryl Rankin as Aggie, the stage manager and prompter, was just as loud, pushy and antagonistic as she needed to be.
My only negative criticism is that the stage curtains were a distraction because they didn’t close smoothly and without significant help from stage- hands every time they were opened or closed, of which there were many in this play. There is not much that can be done about that when it is necessary to use a portable stage and backdrops. I remember from years ago, that stages used to be built into one end of auditoriums and gymnasiums, thus eliminating the problem directors must deal with today.
Thanks, Bernie and cast, for another entertaining presentation and please know that your many hours of work were greatly enjoyed by the community. I look forward to another one next year!!

This weekend promised to be quite like others that had passed leaving us all yearning for spring weather. It has been decided at Van Dykes that mother nature must be menopausal. If we have to run our furnaces ‘til June again, I might scream.
Saturday found Georgia, Gay and I settled in for six hours of binge watching of the third season of the HBO series, “Game of Thrones.” The new season starts this week, so we’re committed to six hours of solid blood-shed, nudity, sex and back-stabbing. Georgia doesn’t taste her wine ‘til they break out the first ale (well sometimes, maybe).
Congratulations to Dick Authier for being inducted into the South Dakota Basketball Hall of Fame on Saturday. I hated to miss the occasion, but was glad that other Woony people I knew attended. Hope someone got a good picture of your moment in history.
Saturday night found me at Twin Lakes for my cousin (and mailman), Craig Olson’s retirement party. The weatherman graced us with a sunny day and Claude even attended without threats on my part or the use of a cattle prod. (I think he’s kinda like Punxsutawney Phil, the groundhog, sticking his head out to socialize for spring.) I hope Craig doesn’t hold it against me that I never put chocolate chip cookies in the mailbox for him. Instead he got a daily dose of an irate Blue Heeler. (Craig has an excellent tale of being bitten during sweet corn season by Claude’s dog).
We all have mixed emotions of Craig’s departure from Woony. We selfishly want him to stay in the fold but know he feels he has to start a whole new life without Jill by his side. Their house is filled with too many memories to dwell in alone. He will now head to the Sioux Falls area and will be employed at a golf course. I informed him that was fun and not a job. He can golf to his heart’s content for free. Sounds like buddy, Kenny Bennett, will still have to pay. That sucks to be you, “Bunger.” (He-he.)
Craig had a bit of brotherly payback that night when his co-worker mistook Doug (five years younger, I may add) as Craig’s son! I had the pleasure of sharing a table with Julie Scott from Artesian. I quickly stated to her surprise that she “looked Catholic to me.” (Gay told her I have no filter on my mouth.) Julie is shaping up her life with a move to Mitchell and hopefully, will stay out past 10 p.m. I told her she couldn’t hang out with me then, that was way too late.
We discussed how hard it is for shy people, whether single, divorced or having lost their life-long spouse, to enter a party with a room full of people or a bar by yourself. Sometimes I’m glad that I’ve always been a brazen hussy and do not have fears of being solo. I am quite comfortable striking up conversations with strangers. I’m a born “visitor” and I want to hear their life story. True to form, I departed by 8:30 p.m., but LaMae Peterson surmised that at parties there are people who are “starters and enders.” I’m a starter and Soop is an ender. I bet I felt better on Sunday.
Sunday, Esther and I attended Les Miserables, the play DWU put on. I arrived a half hour early because I’m a stickler for punctuality and wanted to get a good seat. Esther is a run-in-at-the-last-minute type of woman. She was beyond fashionably late with five minutes to go. (I couldn’t chafe, she was held up by a renter.) We seated ourselves in the last two chairs behind the Red Hat Society.
I love musicals, but I quickly discovered this one was just not my cup of tea. The cast was talented, but I thought to myself, “Am I that hard of hearing, ‘cuz I can’t understand 75 percent of what they are singing?” I reluctantly admitted it to Esther and was relieved to hear that she couldn’t either. The solos were ok, but groups sang so fast it was hard to catch. An hour into the play, I whispered to Esther about bailing. She acknowledged she wouldn’t be against the plan, so for once, being tardy was a good thing. We skulked out the back like thieves in the night.
We grabbed a bit of sunshine with friends at Thirsty’s. I rewarded Myron Grosz with a kiss on the cheek for once again buying our beer. Patti wondered what I would do for a mixed drink (definitely a kiss on the lips). Esther surmised that if he had gifted me a bottle of wine, I no doubt would go “all the way.”
Dee Baby

Okay – Editor, I’m guilty of using butcher paper to write my column on. Don’t I at least get brownie points for recycling paper?
This Saturday I sent out this text: Note to self — do not ever, ever buy a bottle of wine called “Dynamite” from the sale grocery cart for $3.97 … my life is plagued by bad decisions.
Corey’s reply was, “Your bad decisions make for good stories.”
Saturday in Mitchell’s Coborn’s, a man started kicking and hitting the ATM while loudly calling it an S.O.B. numerous times. The grocery checkouts fell silent.
My checkout attendant commented, “I was used to that behavior when I worked at the state hospital, I didn’t expect it here.”
I replied, “What can you really expect from a man wearing sweat pants in public.”
While chatting with Anastasia Beaverhausen and her beau, Dave, at Shay’s in the Ramada Inn, a distraught woman started yelling at the bartender that her “bracket was broken!” I am so far out of the loop I thought her T.V. was broken in her room. It turned out she had lost her bet on the teams in March Madness. I live a sheltered life.
Esther was amazed I stayed up ‘till 10 p.m. at her house. Usually I crash early. I told her the next morning I felt it was my duty to stay up in case Dave tried to sneak in. Now I know what our parents felt like. He-he-he!
How to tell if you’re too old to be in a store? After a visit to Rue 21, the only thing I was able to wear was perfume.
I still have never gathered up the courage to ever stroll down a supermarket aisle that has an incontinence label above it. It reminds me of seeing a Highway Patrol on the road and you get nervous even if you’re not guilty of anything.
I am constantly pondering the statement that “Love is forever.” The divorce rate proves otherwise. Wisely, it would seem more cost effective to sign up for marriage contracts that you could renew every three years if both spouses were agreeable. I read once that if newlyweds treated their marriage like a business they opened and wanted to be successful, they would put more effort into it. I’m all for this plan.
I mean really, haven’t we all witnessed couples at restaurants or other events that don’t exchange one word with each other, or worse yet, are glued to their cell phones the entire time? I wonder on long-term relationships that surely there are times when they just want to take a ball-peen hammer and tap their partner between the eyes smartly a couple of times to make a point.
Alas, I will keep my hammer in the toolbox because I fear when we disagree, I would hit too hard and too frequently. His nickname is “Bullhead”!
Dee Baby