…well, yes, I was Jack Wrangler’s butt boy…I’m totally kidding. But I actually worked for him back in 1997, under circumstances more akin to an ass-kicking; I was a replacement for one in a trio of boy singers who backed the female lead in a review called It Could Happen to You: The Songs of Jo Stafford. Jack was the show’s director.
I think I was nervous before we met. Mostly to do with the work: I had a week to learn intricate three-part harmonies for a dozen songs before we’d appear at Odette’s in New Hope, PA, and later, Foxwoods Casino in Connecticut. And yes, there was his history—after all, I was a red-blooded American gay male—imagine going to work for someone whose dick you’d seen splashed across the pages of skin magazines, and in that well-regarded porno, Kansas City Trucking Company? Oh, the power of film; in person he was a tiny slip of a guy whose glory days had past, and as rehearsals progressed he reminded me less of a porno god, more of someone’s over-eager uncle who was tickled silly by showbusiness, and a notorious past he bore with uncommon grace. Charming was the word I’d use, and as it happened, he was a very good director. All the cute boys in heaven must be singing hallelujah. RIP, Jack.