Charles Ludlam

During the summer of 1967, Charles and I would spend a lot of time on the Lower East Side. He lived on 12th Street between Avenues B & C and I would come downtown, maybe in the morning, and we might have breakfast as Leshko’s or B&H, but Leshko’s then had breakfast for $1. Walking around Orchard Street, going to the Pitt Street pool to swim and look at the beautiful Puerto Rican boys and girls, and haunting the bodegas around Rivington Street were frequent preoccupations. Charles spoke Spanish very well; he used to read certain Spanish comic books that had fabulous stories. One in particular was his favorite, a sort of combination of Zorro and The Lone Ranger. Going into the Puerto Rican stores that specialized in religious articles, statuary, candles, and something we both bought – special incense that brought money, power, or love. Sold loose from big bottles or barrels, it came in bright colors and had heavy floral perfumes that were very, very heady, and were hard to light. All bent together in my mind is the color of Charles’ 12th Street apartment that he had painted a rose color after the fashion of Poiret, and the color and aroma of the Puerto Rican Lucky in Love incense that went to mask the aroma of marijuana that was smoked in that glorious summer of 1967. 

The scene is Mario’s loft on Centre Street. The Company is rehearsing Big Hotel. Charles is sitting on a couch in drag or at least in a wig, smoking a joint, and at his side is White Pussy, Mario’s famous cat already filmed (or soon to be) by Andy Warhol. The various members of the Company are standing or sitting around on the floor, likewise sharing the joint that is passed around. Charles: “Remember, in everything you do, don’t be afraid to be fabulous. If you’re playing a villain, no matter what else you do, that villain must also be glamourous. This is the stage: if you’re not willing to up in flames as Artaud said, find another profession.” (He gets up and starts to do a dance of sorts) “In the theater in Russia, they have an apprentice system, and the actors and directors are catered to so that they can concentrate on their work and the apprentices do everything else. Someday, it’ll be like that for us.” (He pirouettes) “We’ll arrive at rehearsal, smoke our ritual joints, do our work and leave, and the apprentices will rush to the ashtrays to try to light our leftover roaches.”