I’ll never forget that 1988 call from Carol Piper Marshall, great granddaughter of John Piper, who gave us Piper’s Opera House.
“McAvoy, I understand you’re portraying Mark Twain in the schools.”
“Yes, Carol, I’m getting to see ten schools a week and loving it.”
“Well, how would you like to do two shows a day, six days a week, during the four months of summer here at Piper’s?”
There was a moment of silence as I picked myself up off the floor. What a lucky break! Thanks to Carol, I was able to try out Twain material on a live audience each day to find out what might fly in 1988. So of course I took to it like a duck on a Junebug.
The first thing I discovered was that the spirits up there in the Piper’s attic, which served as my green room, were the friendliest and most hospitable apparitions on the Comstock. If you don’t believe me, just go up there by yourself sometime.
Joe Curtis (great guy) gave me a warm welcome, and we put together a hasty historical timeline on the wall at the Fourth Ward School. It was still there the last time I looked.
My son was born during that memorable summer of ‘88, and Sheriff Del Carlo gave me a cigar. I don’t think I’ve ever been quite so happy. The denizens of the Comstock Lode opened their arms to the future Wild Humorist of the Pacific Slope, extending generous portions of western hospitality.
We had a homeless person up there on the Lode that summer, Bob, who would only talk to Mark Twain between shows.
“Sam, I hitch-hiked over to Lake Tahoe yesterday and got me a bath. It was cold!”
I learned from David Toll that Bob lived in an abandoned shack over in Gold Hill,
so when that wonderful summer of ‘88 came to an end, I drove over there with a large Mackinaw jacket that I wanted Bob to have. When I found him, I walked up to him with the jacket and said, “Bob, I want you to have this.” He looked at me like I had asked him to borrow five dollars, said, “I got two of them!” And he walked away. Bob would not talk to McAvoy, only to Mark Twain.
We shot a TV commercial for Virginia City awhile back, and I was coming out of Grandma’s Fudge with a large ice cream cone, preparing for the final scene, when a pretty lady came up to me and asked, “Can I have a lick?”
“Sure.” I said, and I handed her the cone, whereupon she turned and walked away with it. I mention this only to alert first-time visitors to the fact that there are still a few folks up there on the Lode who will brighten your day with a practical joke, should the opportunity present itself.
I do so love Virginia City and her colorful characters.
Want to hear McAvoy Layne tell it? Go here for an audio version of this column.
For more than 35 years, in over 4,000 performances, columnist and Chautauquan McAvoy Layne has been dedicated to preserving the wit and wisdom of “The Wild Humorist of the Pacific Slope,” Mark Twain. As Layne puts it: “It’s like being a Monday through Friday preacher, whose sermon, though not reverently pious, is fervently American.”
