Joe Bob Briggs writes:
The 98 years of John Zacherle’s life, which ended last week, were an exception in that he appeared to recall and treasure even the tiniest participant in the smallest show. I worked with him four times because we were members of what may be the world’s smallest acting fraternity—late-night TV horror hosts—and John was the czar, the founder, the pioneer of that oddest of postmodern vaudeville acts. (…)
On the day Zacherle was scheduled, an ex-Marine working as best boy came up to me at eight in the morning to find out when John would be there. When Zacherle arrived, about six of the toughest hombres I’ve ever worked with lined up to get his autograph. Zacherle cheerfully amused them with puns and old bits that he’d been doing for 30 years, then told me he was at my service.
And he was. He was a soldier. He was there to work and amuse. He didn’t care that we were working on a crappy insert stage because his whole life had been on a crappy insert stage, and he knew the journey was not about the stage, it was about the life and joy you created while you were standing on it.
Reminds me of that Vincent Price story…
