Once upon a time, way back in the day, my sister, Nan, and I attended Pepperdine University in Malibu, California. One day Jon Voight came to the campus to talk to the students. The film “Deliverance” had just released, and as our family was “of the theatre” as well as being white-water enthusiasts, Nan and I were dying to meet him. We waited for the right moment after his presentation and were able to walk him to his car sharing our theatrical background and canoeing stories along the way. He then invited us to come see him in “A Street Car Named Desire,” with Faye Dunaway.
Here was a dilemma: we were now BFF’s with Jon Voight, and his personal invitation to see his show; however, we were economically unable to commit to such an expensive event. In the hustle and flow of creative alternatives to find a way around our pecuniary quandary our imaginations began to stir. We could only afford one ticket, a student ticket at that. And here was where our delinquent minds kicked into gear.
There were multiple entrances into the theatre, and the night we attended, we scoped out which entrance was most clogged with patrons. We spied a bottleneck at one entrance, and Nan squeezed herself into the middle of it. The next thing I knew, she was waving at me through the glass window from inside the lobby.
The purchased ticket got me inside, and I then gave Nan the stub for the legit seat while I waited for the houselights to go out before slipping into the theatre. When I was stopped by an usher, I explained that my sister had the ticket, and I would sit on an empty back row and join her later never specifying how much later. That fabrication proved sufficient, and I watched the play from the back of the house.
After the show we went outside to the stage door and slipped in when no one was looking. We explained to the security guard that we were here to see Mr. Voight, and Nan flashed the ticket stub for good measure. He pointed down the hall to the dressing rooms and said, “Mr. Voight’s name is on the door.”
When Jon opened the door he was a bit surprised to see the brother/sister duo, his new best friends and fellow thespians from Pepperdine University. He “acted” like he remembered us, inviting us into the room, and introducing us to Mrs. Voight sitting in a corner, feet propped on a chair, her hands perched atop a rounded tummy. She was great with child and indulged us with a smile while patting her belly housing the future Ms. Angelina Jolie. And so, given our close and personal history, I keep waiting for the call to co-star in Ms. Jolie’s next film. I mean, come on, we’re friends…right?
