Hugh Neeld: The Curmudgeon Report

Did you see the musical, "Lost in the '50s," when it was here in East Texas? Fresh off a 10-year run at the Starlite Theatre in Branson, it played to a packed house Jan. 25 and 26 at LeTourneau University. If you saw it, I know you thoroughly enjoyed it, particularly if you lived during the '50s.

Several years ago, my wife and I vacationed with another couple in Branson, where a lifelong fantasy of mine was finally fulfilled thanks to this musical. If you’ve been to Branson, you know about the shows. I’ve never seen so many and in such variety anywhere.

When we decided on Branson, I wasn’t as enthusiastic as I pretended to be. My image of Branson was unending exposure to old-time country singers like Hank Williams. As a young man, I was a radio disc jockey and played more of that kind of music than a body can stand.

I was wrong. The shows were as slick and modern as any in Las Vegas. The talent was polished and professional, the lighting, staging and sound state-of-the-art. In short, they were all first-class entertainment.

We saw Pierce Arrow with Paul Harris, one of the funniest comedians performing, Andy Williams and Glen Campbell, a little more mature than I remembered, but as talented as ever, the Branson Belle Showboat dining and entertainment cruise on Table Rock Lake, and my favorite, the musical revue, "Lost in the '50s." This was the one that fulfilled my fantasy of someday appearing on stage with a professional troupe of entertainers and basking in the applause of a packed house after a breathtaking performance.

The theme of the show was what the title implied — everything, the music, the costumes, the skits were reminiscent of the 1950s. The young people (four boys and four girls) looked like the cast of the movie, "Grease." The boys were in jeans and leather jackets and the girls in poodle skirts and loafers.

One skit required that a man be chosen from the audience. The young lady doing the choosing came down off the stage and walked slowly along the front row. Then (be still my heart), stopped right in front of me and held out her hand. I took it, and in a trance, accompanied her up on the stage. There a leather jacket was draped across my shoulders and I was introduced as “Hugh from Jacksonville.” Coached by a young man close behind me, I sang “The Wanderer” with the girls who were dressed as carhops on roller skates.

After that, in different routines, they used my name like I was part of the cast. For instance, in one skit a girl was on the phone with a boy seeking a blind date. After describing herself, she asked him to do the same. “Well,” he said, “I’m no Hugh from Jacksonville, but you could do worse.”

I was convinced it was my raw, animal magnetism that got me picked. Our friends suggested it was the front-row-center seats. (A little jealousy, perhaps?)

When I started speculating aloud about the price of a lighted billboard on the main drag, they couldn’t get packed fast enough. Oh well, I’ve got my memories.

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A question to ponder:

Is age an excuse for not being good at things we weren’t good at when young?

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Hugh Neeld is a freelance columnist for TylerPaper.com.

Hugh Neeld is a freelance columnist for TylerPaper.com.
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