Front Row Center

By Michael Warren Everything in the Garden by Edward Albee (adapted from the play by Giles Cooper) Directed by Peggy Lord Chilton

The original play by Giles Cooper opened in London in 1962, and Albee wrote an American version a few years later as a tribute to

his friend. It’s described as a black comedy, but it’s not funny at all. The play is a bleak commentary on the American Dream.

The scene is set in the living room and sunroom of the suburban house belonging to “Richard” and “Jenny”. They are desperately short of money, and most of their dialogue revolves about this everpresent problem. They can’t afford to send their daughter “Robin” (played by Maxanne Swanson) to summer camp, and they buy cheap cigarettes in order to save the coupons. Mark Donaldson has a difficult task making Richard believable, and does his best in the part. Mostly he yells his lines, but this means that later in the play there is little contrast to his earlier lines and it doesn’t mean much when he really has something to yell about. Lori Denise Grant is excellent as Jenny, who is willing to find a job in order to supplement their income. But Richard refuses to allow her to work. This might have seemed true in the 60’s, but is inexplicable today. Enter the presence of evil in the form of “Mrs. Toothe”. She runs a bordello, patronized by bored and wealthy men. It’s easy money, and Jenny soon succumbs to temptation. Donna Burroughs plays Mrs. Toothe with some skill in an almost military white suit—Dante would have placed her in one of the lower circles of hell. There is also a mysterious character “Jack” who wanders onto the stage, and speaks in asides to the audience. He is well played by Brian Mattes, who lets us know that Jack is eccentric and very wealthy.

In Act 2 we get to meet the neighbors, played jovially by Sally Jo Bartlett, Brana Corredor, Pamela Johnson, Douglas Pinkerton, Tom Nussbaum and Peter Luciano. The rest of the play is about the consequences of greed. Finally, at the end of the play we are left to wonder if Richard and Jenny will be arrested for murder—not exactly a happy ending. In Shaw’s play “Mrs. Warren’s Profession” there is a critique of hypocrisy and the lack of opportunities for women. Here no one cares about anything except appearances and the danger of being found out. Possibly that sentiment is more true today than when Albee wrote it.

The pace was terrific, and all the cast did a great job with this disturbing play. Congratulations to Peggy Lord Chilton and all her hardworking team. Stage Manager was Ruth Varner-Smith and her Assistant was Shelley Betts. I should also mention the appropriate set design by Alan Bowers. Next up is “The Madres” by Stephanie Alison Walker which opens on November 5. It’s good to have LLT back and running hard!

Michael Warren

The Conquest of Perú

By Robert Drynan

The first attempt at exploration of the interior of the South American continent was undertaken in 1522 by Pascual de Andagoya.

He landed at a point near where the border of Ecuador and Colombia lies today. Nearby friendly indigenous people told him of a city of gold called Virú that stood on the banks of a river known as Pirú, (hence the origin of the name Perú.) Andagoya fell ill and cut short his explorations, returning to Panamá.

Francisco Pizarro arrived in the New World in 1502. He accompanied Vasco de Balboa on his march across the Panamanian Isthmus in 1524 to be among the first Europeans to see the Pacific Ocean. In Panamá, Pizarro formed a partnership with a soldier, Diego de Almagro, to explore and conquer Virú and divide it’s wealth between them. Pizarro and his confederates mounted two expeditions to the land of El Dorado in 1524 and 1526 respectively both of which met with forceful resistance. It served to reinforce their certainty that Virú offered opportunity for wealth and power. As Pizarro and Almagro began preparations for a third adventure, the governor of Panamá refused them permission to initiate the attempt. Pizarro sailed to Spain and in 1528 obtained permission for the venture directly from the King of Spain, Carlos I in a document known as the Capitulación de Toledo.

In the mean-time a young adventurer, Francisco de Orellana, Pizarro’s cousin and like Pizarro, native of Trujillo in Spanish Extremadura, arrived in Panamá at the tender age of seventeen. When Pizarro returned from Spain in 1530, Orellana joined his cousin’s expedition. Pizarro’s force consisted of 108 infantry and 60 horsemen when he marched to Cajamarca. He met with Atahualpa’s army of many thousands and defeated the Inca emperor by ruse. Approaching with gifts, the Spaniards slew Atahualpa’s personal guards and made the Inca emperor prisoner.

Pizarro’s brothers Gonzalo and Hernando and another prominent Spaniard, Hernando de Soto, who a few years later explored the Southern United States from Florida to Arkansas, also participated in the venture. After the ransoming and execution of Atahualpa, the Spanish forces marched on the Inca capital at Cuzco and capturing the city, installed seventeen-year-old Manco Inca as a puppet emperor, (a tactic perhaps learned from Hernán Cortéz, who slew Moctezuma and installed his son Cuautemóc). Pizarro returned to the coast and founded Lima, making that city the capital of his conquest.

Almagro, Pizarro’s partner in the conquest, marched southward in an abortive expedition to conquer present-day Chile. During Almagro’s absence Pizarro consolidated his power in Perú and when his partner returned, they fell out over the division of the spoils: a dispute over Pizarro’s claim of the rights to Cuzco. In the ensuing civil war, Pizarro prevailed at the battle of Las Salinas in 1638 and executed Almagro. However, he failed to execute Almagro’s son Diego El Mozo, who later in 1541 invaded Pizarro’s palace in Lima with the aid of supporters and assassinated him. El Mozo was installed by his confederates as governor of Perú, but shortly thereafter was defeated in the desperate battle of Chupas in September of 1542. He escaped to Cuzco, but was arrested, immediately condemned to death, and executed in the great square of the city.

NOTE: It is difficult to place the Spanish conquest of the Americas in the context of twenty-first century values. History tells us the Conquistadores

committed terrible acts of cruelty, or in the best possible construct, acted with extreme indifference to human suffering. On the other hand the human experience in Europe in the Fifteenth and Sixteenth Centuries offered no guidance for alternative conduct. The conquistadores that arrived in the Americas had left behind a Spain that had fought with terrible ferociousness to drive the Moors from the Iberian Peninsula and had completed the conquest of Andalucía virtually on the eve of Cristóbal Colón’s discovery of America. In Europe of the era leaders of modest beginnings acquired wealth and noble stature as rewards for military success and their companies thrived on loot taken in their campaigns: perhaps the first inklings of Western Civilization’s concepts of socio-economic upward mobility. Atahualpa’s ransom included filling this room It would be difficult to expect that once with gold and twice with silver. these warriors would have altered their conduct in their campaigns in the Americas. They certainly faced the same threats of dismemberment, pain, and torture that they handed out. In that context a twenty-first century Westerner might be able to sense the extraordinary courage displayed by these early explorers and warriors, without excusing their lack of humanity. And what of the wonderment? They had never seen monumental cities as Tenochtitlan the site of modern Mexico City or the marvels of Cuzco or the Inca fortress of Sacsayhüaman, constructed of massive cut stones weighing as much as 300 tons. They gave credence to cities of gold and risked all to discover El Dorado. They had never imagined a river of the magnitude of the Amazon or encountered the density and extension of that river’s surrounding forests. How could they resist the temptations; the eye-popping wealth that Atahualpa brought to pay the price of his ransom or the gold and emeralds they found simply strewn over the ground around Lake Guatavita? What of the fabulous animals they discovered: llamas, serpents, tapirs, leopards, birds? What of the foods they tasted for the first time: bananas, tomatoes, cacao, maize, papayas, mangos, avocados, guanabanas, chirimoyas? Whatever their shortcomings, these adventurers were men of courage. They encountered wonders at every turn and faced dangers far beyond anything for which they had prepared themselves. They were certainly no lesser men in their time than Daniel Boone, Meriwether Lewis and William Clark, or John Glenn.

Robert Drynan

By David Ellison

“Oh, fortunate you who knows the hour of his death!”

The legend of Juan Manuel had its roots in history, but blossomed into a macabre horror story, a morphing of Othello, Jack the Ripper, and Scrooge.

Juan Manuel arrived in New Spain in 1623, taking up residence on Calle Uruguay 94 in Mexico City. Due to his immense wealth, notable acumen and easy charm, he quickly ingratiated himself with the Viceroy (one of Cortéz’ successors) and became his powerful private secretary. Of course, this earned Juan Manuel many jealous enemies, especially among the Audiencia, or royal court, which served as a check on the Viceroy’s power. They repeatedly tried to bring Juan Manuel down to no avail...until they discovered his Achilles Heel: He was a jealous man. (And this is where the story veers off into an incredible but fascinating tale.)

Juan Manuel’s much younger wife, Mariana, was outrageously beautiful. But she’d failed to provide him with an heir.

Despondent, desperate, Juan Manuel invited his trusted nephew over from Spain to manage his affairs, and then retired to the local Franciscan monastery to beseech God.

Juan Manuel’s enemies cackled in glee. They crafted ingenious, insidious ways to, little by little, convince Juan Manuel that Mariana was being unfaithful during his absence, perhaps even with his nephew.

Juan Manuel seethed with irrational anger and jealousy. He vowed he would murder the man, whoever he was, if only he could learn his identity!

Lucifer was eager to oblige, but the cost would be dear: Juan Manuel’s very soul. Once Juan Manuel had foolishly agreed, the Devil gave him his instructions: Juan Manuel was to leave the monastery late at night, just before 11 pm. He should accost the first gentleman he came upon and ask the time. If that man answered correctly, then Juan Manuel would have found Mariana’s lover.

Dressed in a black cape and a hat with large, dark feathers obscuring his face, Juan Manuel did as he was told that very night. He approached a gentleman and asked him the time.

“Why, eleven o’clock,” the fellow replied amiably.

“Oh, fortunate you,” Juan Manuel blurted out, “who knows the hour of his death!” And with that, he drew his dagger, the blade glinting in the moonlight, and plunged it into the hapless man’s heart.

Juan Manuel returned to his home, cackling with malevolent delight. He’d had his vengeance!

Only, not really. The Great Deceiver, Lucifer, appeared again and, cackling himself, informed Juan Manuel that he’d fooled him. Juan Manuel had killed an innocent man. But, if he continued murdering men, one each night at 11 pm, eventually he’d get his revenge.

Juan Manuel, blind with frustrated rage, did so, each time calling out, “Oh, fortunate you who knows the hour of his death!”

Terror ruled the city; until one morning the police brought to Juan Manuel the body of his own nephew, stabbed in the heart.

Oh, so late, Juan Manuel awoke from his madness. Overwhelmed by horror and remorse, he fled to the monastery.

The friar, after hearing the whole sordid tale, replied, “There is only one way to reclaim redemption. For three nights, you must go to the Plaza Mayor (Zócalo), kneel at the foot of the gallows there, and pray the rosary.”

The first night, as Juan Manuel knelt, a demonic voice joined him in his prayer.

The second, Juan Manuel beheld a funeral procession of evil specters carrying his own coffin.

No one knows what happened on the final night. But one October morning in 1641, the people of Mexico City awoke to find Juan Manuel’s body dangling from the gallows. Many surmised that God’s angels had carried out this ultimate act of hideous atonement. Others claimed it was merely members of the Audiencia, who’d finally had their way.

Regardless, today in Mexico City at Calle Uruguay 94, a plaque identifies the house of Juan Manuel de Solórzano (where, some claim, a man in a dark cape still haunts).

The best time to visit is 11 pm, of course. And, if someone passes by, you’ll know what to say. ***

This is a selection from Ellison’s forthcoming book, Niños Héroes: The Fascinating Stories Behind Mexican Street Names.