Billy and Betty

Billy Beadle would have fit right in with my uncles Dick and Earl, and Aunts Dolores and Ethylene would have loved him.
Each morning, I sip my coffee from a genuine Billy Beadle mug, some of which were crafted especially for me by the artist. This morning, it's my Eleanor mug, dedicated to "Motor Mouth Norman." I believe it was during Eleanor that I received a call from a sweet, daft elderly woman who claimed she had seen my performance in the show (I was in the chorus), and proceeded to leave a message raving about how wonderful I was. What a charming and talented young man I was, etc. Very Dame Edna. It took me several minutes to realize it was Billy, and several more for the message to end.
The Old Mug Shop sat on Redondo Blvd just across the street from The Silver Fox. The nights I spent with friends at the Fox seem an eternity ago. In fact, some have gone completely from my memory, thank God. But visiting Billy at the Old Mug Shop might as well have been last week.
The summer after Eleanor, I was cast in my first production of Joseph, and I went to Billy to have mugs made for all my brothers. He offered me a good deal if I ordered a dozen, so of course I had to get one for me. This would be the first of many good deals. Billy was all about friendship and memories.
While I did not spend much time with him outside of theater, one would never know he wasn't one of my best friends, or uncles. When one of us was in a show, the other would come see it and stay for a hug afterward. He was always ebullient and effusive. One might think he was my father. In fact, he was warmer and more accepting. He encouraged my goofiness and praised my attempts at dancing even while mocking my total lack of grace. When Billy teased, it was so good-spirited and funny that it only made me want to be more of a goof.
I remember being backstage at the Carpenter Center in the green room getting ready for an opening night performance, and Billy strolled back moments before curtain, as he always did, to wish everyone a great opening. I think each one of us felt he was there just for us because he had a special way of making each person feel loved and appreciated.
When I sip my morning coffee from a Billy Beadle mug, I think of that sweet, funny man in his red hat and his red beard and his "Stormin' Norman!" greeting. His voice rings as clearly in my head today as it did ten years ago when he stood right in front of me and laughed his mischievous laugh. His smile is equally vivid in my memory, as I am sure it is in many others'.
During The Music Man, I always had so much fun watching him banter with the late, great Betty Motsinger as they played the Mayor and Eulalie Shinn. The two of them together made quite an entrance and could not have stayed too long on that stage. Even though they tried.
The last time I saw Betty was on the bluff in Long Beach. We often crossed paths there, and she would usually say something like "Don't I know you?" and then let out a hearty laugh, not dissimilar to Phyllis Diller's but unique to Betty Motsinger.
These two magnificent people are now magnificent shining stars in the heavens, and the other celestial residents must feel quite blessed to have them in their midst. I am thankful for the time I got to share with them, and I look forward to one day crossing their paths again.