Sybil Bruncheon’s “Seeing Is Believing… or is it?”...

Which of these is the correct explanation for this photo?

1) On the plant Gzzoolxton, naughty children are sent outdoors for a “time-out” as punishment. Interestingly, the term “time-out” is literal because the child is left outside for one of the interdimensional flying saucers to come by and take them to a parallel universe for several centuries… although they will still be back home in time for dinner… and a spanking.

2) Eugene Carpathy suffered from koinoniphobia: Fear of rooms! Yes, there IS an actual phobia for rooms! Can you believe it?... Oddly, Eugene only “developed” koinoniphobia after his uncle Frank asked him to repaint his four bedroom house… Frank got suspicious too when Eugene struggled with pronouncing “koinoniphobia”. He said “going-onion-phon-onia”.

3) Citizens of Badel-Badel, Hungary have a very compassionate health care system in place. No person is ever denied medical attention no matter what the malady or their financial situation. On the other hand, sometimes the treatment for various illnesses might be very similar. Fear of heights, caffeine withdrawal, willful sullenness, and chronic depression are all lumped under one “cure”… the patient is seated on a steel plate near a copper antenna rigged with yards of wire to wait for the next lightning strike… happily, there is only a nominal copay…

4) In San Souci, France, the Existential Festival on Albert Camus’ birthday was a time of yawning, sighing, staring into space, and the reciting of poetry that didn’t rhyme, usually by oneself or possibly while looking into a mirror if one wanted company. The promoters thought about marketing the weekend “Camus-Con”… but wondered… what’s the point?

5) Filbert’s incessant and deafening yodeling had completely emptied the town… Pastor Helgar dropped by to say goodbye before he left on the bus for Akron.

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From Sybil Bruncheon’s Merry Memoirs: Game Show Goofiness!

True Story! As professional and well-loved as the late Alex Trebek was on television’s iconic Jeopardy, there were apparently episodes which were shelved for any number of reasons. One in particular occurred during a game-show writers’ strike where Trebek and a late-night (and possibly drunk!) crew of cleaning staff decided to write the material for the next show… here are the topics that they surprised the players, the studio audience, and the sponsors with at show time! You decide…

1) PURPLE CLOTHING ITEMS,

2) OBLONG FRUITS AND VEGETABLES AND THEIR MISUSE BY CHILDREN,

3) FAMOUS PEOPLE EATEN BY CANNIBALS,

4) PRESIDENTS WITH SECRET BIZARRE HOBBIES,

5) ACTRESSES WITH MEN’S NAMES,

6) MEN WITH ACTRESSES’ NAMES,

7) DOGS AND CATS AND THEIR RECIPES,

8) PLANETS IN OTHER PARTS OF THE UNIVERSE,

9) FURNITURE THAT TALKS,

10) LINT

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Sybil Bruncheon's "A Simple Request"...

When I die, which is unfortunate, (but necessary!), I have the following requests to be fulfilled by my dear friends...

1] That the funeral ceremony itself should be kept to three acts, and certainly no more than five! If Shakespeare could tell his wonderful stories like HAMLET, A MIDSUMMER NIGHT’S DREAM, and CORIOLANUS in five, I think it will appear that I'm filled with hubris to request an entire weekend-long cycle of recitatives, epic poem readings, interpretive dance and contortionist performances (with or without full nudity), pie eating and throwing contests, bizarre miming with quarrelsome pets, and juggling (possibly with sharp and/or burning objects).

2] That only the most attractive photographs of me be posted around the stadium (or wherever the funeral is held to contain the expected crowd) and that said-photos never be the candid ones of me bending over to dry myself fresh from the tub, eating difficult food items often from far-off countries where only Andrew Zimmer and Anthony Bourdain would eat, and finally, that set of "French post cards" I modeled for when things got particularly tight during my blacklisting in Hollywood... (Senator Joe McCarthy can go f*uck himself!)

3] Concerning the above, the "attractive" photos should be published in the hard-bound and leather trimmed funeral-program to be (forcibly!) sold to all the attendees of the funeral... $29.95... not a bad price for a 312 page volume!... especially autographed by the deceased! If enough people complain about the price, I suppose we could do a paperback version of it, but WITHOUT autographs!

4] During the breaks between the acts, when the gourmet delicacies and dinner courses are being served, there should be an open mic or perhaps several mics for guests to feel free (or pressured!) to tell cheerful and even inspiring anecdotes of my life, my talent, my physical beauty, and any stories of me saving orphans, kittens, or houseplants from devastating fires, earthquakes, or banking malfeasance.

5] The decorations and dress code should, of course, be black... but with cheerful pops of color, perhaps in boutonnieres for the men and wrist corsages for the ladies... or perhaps BOTH for the gender-fluid or reassigned mourners! (Please! No baby’s breath!) The wait-staff should be dressed in white jackets and ties so as not to confuse the guests during beverage and hors d'oeuvres service... and later during the sit-down banquets!

 6] All music both as performances during the various acts and in the background of the meals (or in the elevators) should be of an uplifting nature whether profoundly sad or raucous and even bawdily entertaining! Classical pieces, Broadway show-tunes, and sailor shanties are all welcome, especially accompanied by ballet, adagio, apache-dancing, and tap breaks! Again, partial or total nudity is permissible if it enhances the message of the musical piece. (A small stipend has been set aside for performances by outsiders who are only "guesting" at the funeral and are not actual mourners! Equity guidelines are in place... and will be strictly enforced! We can't have various show-persons hoping to take advantage of a tragic occasion to profit!)

7] At the end of the entire funeral pageant, we can politely (but firmly!) ask all the guests to please fold their chairs and stack them neatly against the walls in an orderly fashion to help the overworked wait-staff with their clean-up. A funeral that size will require at least two or three days of clean-up, and I won't have my legacy be that working people were disadvantaged or traumatized by my passing. Besides, depending on where my funeral is held, there might be other bookings or rentals to follow almost immediately: 4H Jamborees, county fairs and livestock shows, demolition derbies, or public executions.

8] During the public funeral procession to the cemetery, the crowds of mourners behind the 22-horse-drawn (highly decorated!) funeral carriage should not only openly cry, but also laugh, (loudly!) to emphasize my ability at comedy! I would prefer that they hold and read from small pamphlets of my writings and wave them in the air as they pass the hundreds of onlookers... if they laugh and point at the carriage, it may convey the wrong idea of my passing. Just a thought.

9] At the cemetery, it should be revealed that, as a surprise bonus for my guests, the coffin should not only be open, but that it should be doused with gasoline and set on fire, and that Mummie has decided to be a giant hibachi for an after-funeral barbecue! (Public cremation will also make our Indian friends and any ancient Romans feel a certain welcome to the festivities!) Square dancing, jug bands, hog-calling, and all sorts of barnyard merriment should thoroughly remove all the typical funeral-dreariness from the day (or early evening by that point!) Guests can either change into outdoor and festive attire... or disrobe completely! For vegetarian and vegan guests, a selection of kabobs should be offered. Everyone else can eat barbecued pork, chicken, sausages, beef, lamb, goat... but with their hands. There's no need at this point to drive the expense of the funeral up with fine china, silverware, and linens. Half of them are show-people anyway... they won't know the difference!

10] … and finally, please make sure to film the entire thing... every moment, every nuance, and in all the locations!... Just in case there IS some sort of after-life, I should like very much to watch it again and again and again to know that someone actually noticed I had been there at all... and wasn't anymore. In any event; don't be sad! Death will have come for me as an old and comforting friend. I thank you.

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From Sybil Bruncheon’s Merry Memoirs: It's all relative... or... whatever...

Helen Keller once said, “I cried because I had no shoes until I met a man who had no feet.”…

... well… I once cried because I had no mittens, and then I passed a man who had no thumbs. He couldn't tie his shoes, or button his shirt, or... uh... well, take care of... "business", and he happened to have been extremely well-built and handsome... and ...well, I struck up a conversation with him, and we... uh... hit it off. I treated us to lunch at a local cafe just outside the alley we met in, and we went off together to a cheap roadside hotel for a long weekend of rough sex and scintillating conversation! You know the type. Anyway, I decided to take him home, but on the way, as he put his big arm around me and stared into my eyes, he asked me why I was crying. I said, "Because I have no mittens.".... he stopped, turned me to face him and said as sweetly as possible, "But Sybil.... It's July...."

(Portrait by Olan Montgomery)

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Sybil Bruncheon's Stories For Young Scientists…

Boys and Girls! Did you know that there have been other solar eclipses at other times and in different places?? For instance, at Prendergast Point, Idaho, at the Our Lady of Merciful Miasmas Laying-In Hospital, the nursing staff took a short break on the afternoon of June 17th, 1921. Being educated and extremely scientific ladies, they had prepared thoroughly for this "once-in-a-lifetime opportunity"….. as the sky darkened and all conversation quieted, the girls marveled at the other phenomenon surrounding the event.

The birds stopped singing, crickets and other night-time creatures began to hum, and the famous "chilly breeze" passed over them as the moon's shadow crossed the globe…. the extraordinary mystery and stillness of the event was suddenly broken by old Mr. Gregoire, the janitor from the 4th floor who thought it would be funny to bombard the earnest ladies with stolen pastries from the cafeteria! "Moon pies!", he shrieked! 'Moon Pies! MOON PIES!!!", and as if that wasn't shock enough for the screaming and frosting-covered ladies, he proceeded to pull down his overalls only inches from their gaping faces and expose his 68 year old buttocks to them…. Cries of, "My eyes! MY EYES!!!" filled the courtyard of the hospital as medical staff came running….

The papers reported that this was yet another instance of a temporary madness which seems to follow solar eclipses as they occur. No charges were filed, although Mr. Gregoire was given a topical ointment to alleviate an unsightly pimple condition…

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Sybil Bruncheon’s “My Merry Memoirs”… Easter 1986.

The New York Native, a weekly paper published in New York City. And there I was as their Easter season model for gifts and treats!! .....(um, yes, I got carried away when they pulled out the chocolates! But they hadn't fed any of the crew lunch!!...... bastards!)

(Photos and article by William Cullum) (Sybil’s gown by Cliff Boone and Morrie Breyer of A.Q.U.A.)

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Sybil Bruncheon's "My Merry Memoirs!"... Fiddling Around in Films!

GOLD DIGGERS OF 1933!!!...

Did I ever tell you about my tour through Hollywood's chorus lines when the Stock Market Crash and Depression had screwed up most careers... including mine? Well, I went from fabulous times in the silents and made the transition to the talkies with no problem... but BOOOM!! My investments evaporated, my debts exploded, and it was a choice between waitressing at the Automat or playing a neon violin with a hundred other girls in a darkened sound stage... dressed like a giant lampshade that kept getting caught in my battery pack! Look for me during the "Shadow Waltz" number... you can find m easily! I'm the one with the neon violin shorting out over and over, flickering on and off again as it zaps me in my patooties! By the end of the shoot, my hair looked like a haystack! It took me two days at Mr. Paulette's to put the marcelle back in it! JEEEEESH!!!

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Sybil Bruncheon's "Fascinating and Funny Phenomena!"...

A cephalophore (from the Greek for "head-carrier") is a saint who is generally depicted carrying his or her own head; in art, this was usually meant to signify that the subject in question had been martyred by beheading. One of the most intriguing aspects of stories of beheaded saints is that they all continue to live and carry their heads much to the horror of their executioners and witnesses. They speak at length, walking about, visiting various places, quoting scripture and invoking all sorts of reactions from onlookers. Interestingly, headless people walking and talking predates Christianity and has occurred for centuries in cultures all around the world!... is it surprising that many of them have happened to perfectly ordinary persons in everyday life? Here are a few examples… 

1)   Princess Alexis of Heinen-Swizeisis – 1140 AD. At eleven years of age, she was accidentally beheaded during an axe-throwing game at her birthday party. She abruptly stood up, and, to ease the obvious discomfort of her guests and their parents, declared that it “was time for cake”!... Of course, unable to blow out her own candles (though she tried for several minutes) she invited everyone “to make a wish”. Afterwards during the gift opening time, she bravely tried on a charming bonnet and scarf set, tying a rather fetching bow just under her chin…A good time was had by all… according to the manuscripts…

2)   Sister Maigretta Alspeth Yonzagreeve of the Perpetually Forlorn Lamb of Woe Nunnery – 1213 AD. Sister May (an acronym of her initials) was head harvestress among the nuns in the abbey… at 6’7” she swung an energetic scythe when gathering the grains in the Fall. Sadly, a novice under her tutelage, carelessly swooped when she should have swiped, and her untrained blade took May’s head off cleanly on a sunny October afternoon. Despite the horrified shrieks of her sister-nuns, May briskly picked up her own head, cradled it into the folds of her habit, and firmly but lovingly admonished the ladies to continue their work as the day was coming to a close. The last of the grain was cut, gathered, and tossed into a wagon, and all the sisters retired for tea and biscuits before their evening prayers. Sister May made a brief report to the Mother Superior although she attached no blame to the young novice. She went to bed and slept well… tucking her head into a drawer by her bedside so as not to roll over it in her sleep. She was scheduled to conduct the morning devotional, but bowed out due to a sore throat.

3)   Duke Dragomir II of Eastern Rumelia – 1479 AD. Notoriously handsome and an able athlete, Dragomir was especially fond of contact sports enhanced by obstacle course challenges… the more risky, the better. His own personal favorite invention was the infamously violent Obstacle-Course Cross-Country Croquet Tournament. It was in the final quarter of the Montenegran Open during an overtime penalty when Dragomir was struck from behind by an opposing team member with his mallet. It certainly gave the term “sudden death” a whole new meaning. Dragomir, however, got right up, searched for his head which had rolled down a hillock (but was tossed to him by a jolly team mate), and being a notoriously good sport, invited everyone back to the clubhouse lodge for ale and mutton-pops… with skittle-beetle chips.

4)   Peter Gallego – 1929 AD. A nice family man and self-employed plumber in Queens, NY, Mr. Gallego built his small hands-on business from scratch after immigrating to the USA. Opportunites came his way in the sleepy and safe neighborhood of Broad Channel, made up of houses built on piers and separated by canals. It was during a particularly foggy morning in June that “Leaky Pete” (his nickname from affectionate neighbors) forgot to duck as he was speeding to a house call in his small outboard motor boat. Passing under the timbers of Wesauckett Walk and Breakers Blvd. his head was lopped off cleanly and sailed 40’ into the rolling wake. A passing lobster skiff saw what happened and scooped his still spluttering head up in a net, coughing up some sea water, but none the worse for wear. Indeed, Gallego invited the lobster crew back to the Giggling Mermaid for beers. It was there when several patrons saw what had happened that Gallego’s career changed completely. Obviously unable to continue plumbing, a friend connected to the Vaudeville circuit, suggested that Pete meet a comedian-ventriloquist named Señor Wences, whose puppet/dummies included a little boy named Johnny. When Wences met Pete, he immediately came up with an idea for a disembodied head in a box named “Pedro”… and the punchline for jokes when the box door would flip open?... “S’ALRIGHT”… Leaky Pete made a fortune and became a star on the Ed Sullivan show. 

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Sybil Bruncheon's "My Merry Memoirs... the early, EARLY years!!"...

So many of you have asked about my early (very early!) career, before television, Hollywood, Broadway… even back before Vaudeville and the carny-show circuit… an actress, a serious actress applies herself to any and every opportunity when she’s starting out and she hones her craft in every possible venue… speaking of which, here are a few of my early (very, VERY EARLY!) projects… (clockwise from left)  

TCHEPOULTA-PEGGY MEETS THE TRAVELING SALES-SHAMAN (725 BC): The story of a young inexperienced farm-girl in Meso-America who dreams of adventures in the Mayan Riviera with glamorous celebrities. She works her way up the ladder and across the countryside doing a musical comedy act with dancing chickens dressed only in a feather boa. She ends up headlining in some of the greatest human-sacrifice temples around. The finale takes place with the entire cast on a giant stone staircase, high-kicking and singing about the bird-lizard goddess of the moon when a huge earthquake destroys the city. The survivors throw her into a volcano to satisfy the monkey-papaya priest… or was it the mango-goat-god?... someone with a pierced nose… whatever. 

BABBLING-LONIA & A SUMMER IN SUMERIA (1910 BC): A musical based on an earlier “ladies’ romance novel”… the story follows a young open-hearted socialite in Mesopotamia who is so full of joy and energy that she wins a vacation-cruise on the Tigris-Euphrates. Surrounded by exciting and glamorous people on the cruise, she becomes embroiled in a murder mystery/ponzi-scam with a Persian real estate magnate named Xerxes the Jerxes! He happens to be half-man and half-bull… with an emphasis on the BULL. Sadly, Lonia loses her little inheritance investing in beach-front property in Crete destroyed years earlier in a volcanic eruption. But all is resolved in a big musical finale when she marries Hammurabi… as his 37th wife. 

UGGA-BUMBA BUILDS HIS CAVE FOR TWO! (12,000 BC….or so) A percussion only musical about an extremely handsome though unsophisticated caveman who tires of the trivial whirl of prehistoric urban life, and decides to settle down. Unfortunately, like so many extremely attractive and scantily dressed men in the primitive world, he is offered the very best and most exciting diversions that can be had when you’re wearing nothing but a loincloth. Saber-tooth tiger furs, pet Pterodactyls, rare and exotic shells and rocks, and the rarest vintages of monkey-papaya wine…all these and Brontosaurus filets a l’Orange are his for the asking, but Ugga-Bumba wants love. He meets Neander-Nancy in a small café where she’s the barista serving coffee beans and other seeds and barks to be chewed and spat out. He drags her out by her hair into the sunset. 

OH! SIRIS! (927 BC) A fabulous tour of Ancient Egypt during one of the most glamorous dynasties. I played Hattie McHapshuts, a milliner in Thebes who specialized in the stylish hats and crowns of high society made with feathers, jewels, and of course gold… and maybe a touch of jackal glue. Hattie meets all sorts of interesting and frolicsome folks from Nubia, Thrace, and Phoenicia. One afternoon as she models one of her more festive creations in her shop, she’s mistaken for Empress Zarantha of Assyria. A stampede of fans, thrill-seekers, and autograph-hounds descends on her. Although she’s man-handled and the crowd tears her clothes for souvenirs, Hattie is captivated and decides to take on her new identity and all its trappings. She enters the world of show business, starring in the great tragedies, but rewrites them into cheerful musical comedies with happy endings. Medea reconciles with Jason on a Mediterranean cruise, the Trojan war ends in a merry pie fight, and Oedipus Rex only scratches his corneas… Sadly, during an autograph signing at the Clytemnestra Stab & Stew Melody Barn, Hattie is crushed under a stone tablet she was carving her name into for an adoring house-wife from Karnak. 

OOO-PHY AND HER VISITORS (date undetermined) A strange rhythmic-dance recital about a primitive settlement on a remote island in the South Pacific. Some spoken dialogue interspersed with grunts, screams, gourd rattling, and rock-banging… and an occasional mooing from off-stage livestock… some of it actually scripted! The second act (such as it is) involves the entrance of odd creatures who both cajole and harangue OOO-PHY, a lovely young native girl clad only in a coconut brassiere and palm-leaf skirt, who has opened a raw fish bar on the beach. Gradually, she realizes the visitors are from another planet and want to take her to their home world… either to install as their queen… or eat… or perhaps both. They leave in their flying saucer… just as a volcano erupts.

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A little Christmas tradition... Evening tea in bed... And memories of the Ansonia...

Did I ever tell you how I love keeping little pieces of my world with me along my journey?... things that may not mean much to other folks, but when I've found them (sometimes tossed aside, or even away in the trash!) I keep them and find a use for them in life.

Here's one; it's the bronze wall thermometer from the notorious Continental Baths in the Ansonia Hotel!... yes, THAT Continental Baths where a young, loud, and over-the-top, funny-looking Jewish comedienne with a brassy voice and a zaftig figure sang to Park Avenue socialites and gay boys in bath towels. Her name of course, was Bette Midler and her goofy little pianist was Barry Manilow... both of them destined in a very short time to become icons of the 1970s, and beyond. Well, as we all know, NYC has almost no sentimentality for anyone or anything... not even for itself. And, as times (and tastes!) changed, the city could devour parts of itself one night and awaken the next morning with something shiny and new. The Continental Baths was one of those "things"... it ran its course (even in its later incarnation as "Plato's Retreat"; a forlorn, short-lived, and shabby hand-me-down for heterosexual hipsters of the 1980s and finally was sentenced to the wrecking ball and dumpsters of Giuliani's "gentrification" schemes.

One night, as I roamed the dimly lit labyrinth of the Ansonia's sub-basements, I came across rooms full of the Continental/Plato's wreckage. All that was recognizable of the place was the Olympic-sized swimming pool with its three terra-cotta lion face water spouts, its brass railings and stair bannisters, and the brass stencil-sheet for "5 FT" still splashed with red enamel where the attendants had painted the water depth along the walls of the pool... it was lying on a pile of smashed marble; the dividing partitions of the maze of the infamous steam rooms where New York's, and indeed America's gay men had gone for magic, mystery, and other men!

As I dug through the rubble looking for some piece of terrazzo or tile, mosaic, or memorabilia, I stumbled over this, half-buried in crushed plaster and yet, miraculously undamaged. I had to wipe the front clean of dirt to realize that it wasn't an automobile wheel housing; it was the face of a thermometer, weighing almost 40 pounds. And when I scratched the underside with a discarded nail from the floor, the familiar rosy glow of solid bronze showed itself in the dimness of the work lights strung on the overhead beams.

I lugged it back up to my apartment, and I mean LUGGED it... 40 POUNDS, at least! I scrubbed it in my double-sized cast-iron bathtub; the type that grand old hotels like the Ansonia were known for. And as I polished it, the slivery-green of the verdi-gris began to wash away, and that gleaming, warm, coppery-gold came into view. It was far too heavy to mount on the wall of my splendid bathroom although I thought it would be wickedly witty there, but by the next morning, looking at it sitting on the sofa, I knew instantly what it would be perfect for. I thought of all those breakfasts-in-bed that great ladies of film liked to have in the classic movies, and I remembered how often I myself had turned around in bed to grab a phone call and scattered my plate all over the floor! Not anymore! With this glorious bronze steam-punk objet weighing down the covers, nary a drop of my morning cappu would ever be spilt.

And that's how it's lived in all my homes, even after my long adventure in the Ansonia... a turn-of-the-century thermometer, originally installed in 1904 on the wall of the elegant gentleman's spa of a great metropolitan hotel, before the San Francisco earthquake, the Titanic, World Wars, the Roaring 20s, the Stock Market Crash, the Depression, World Wars, assassinations, moon landings, booms and busts, and blow-jobs... oh yes, and Bette & Barry!

That's how it is for me. Things; things you can hold in your hand, and behold in your eye; things that most folks walk by and don't even notice... Things hold a meaning for me, a depth and expanse that is... spiritual... oh, beyond spiritual. And when I "save" them, when I keep them from being disposed of, discarded, or destroyed, they become... what?... my children?... Certainly they become a part of me. Truly a part of me... whatever…

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