David Shepherd and the ImprovBoston Festival by Michael Golding

My close friend and mentor for 46 years, David Shepherd, the father of improvisation, passed away on December 17, 2018. He was 94 years old. With Paul Sills, David created Compass (1955), the first professional improv cabaret in North America and forerunner of Second City (1959). With Howard Jerome, David created the Improv Olympics (1972) which inspired the Canadian Improv Games (1977, created by Howard Jerome and Willie Wyllie) and i.O. (1981, founded by Charna Halpern and Del Close). In 1998, David brought MOVIExperience, his improvising movies with nonprofessionals format to Pioneer Valley, Massachusetts. Nancy Fletcher, one of the MOVIExperience participants, believed the format could be used to build confidence and character in adolescent girls and founded Act Now! (2000). David's last format was Life-Play (2009), improv games designed to be played over the phone. 

David Shepherd & Michael Golding

David Shepherd suffered from manic depression most of his adult life. His wild mood swings were at times terrifying for me in my early teens. Paul Sills had a gift for being able to diffuse David’s temper and I’d like to think that I learned from the best. I felt the two were polar opposites when it came to temperament, which is why I was surprised to learn in Jeffrey Sweet’s “Something Wonderful Right Away” that Paul had a formidable temper of his own. I remember thinking “I know not this Paul Sills people are talking about.” Paul was always warm, funny and supportive in the workshops I took with him. He never threw a chair at me (not even an imaginary one), which was a recurring memory from the founding members of Playwrights Theatre Club, Compass and Second City.       

Through David’s association with ImprovBoston, we had arranged for his documentary “David Shepherd: A Lifetime of Improvisational Theatre” to be screened at their annual festival in 2011. It would include a Q & A session with me, David, Howard Jerome and Nancy Fletcher and a workshop demonstration of Life-Play, David’s latest format.  I agreed to fly to Belchertown from Los Angeles so that I could drive with David and Nancy to the event.

When I arrived in Belchertown, David surprised me with the news that he planned on showing an instructional Life-Play video after the screening, aiming towards selling copies to the audience. I told him that was not the agreement with the festival and Life-Play was already represented quite well in the documentary.  David was not pleased with that answer and wanted me to approach the festival about changing the program.

By nightfall Howard arrived from Toronto. I had heard back from the festival. We were going to stick to the original plan. David was incensed, ranting about how hard he worked on the videos. Willie Wyllie, the executive producer of the documentary called David from Ottawa (responding to my S.O.S. text) hoping to reason with him. The work on the videos wasn’t wasted. He just couldn’t show or sell them at the screening. The focus was on the documentary and the fine work of our director, Mike Fly and writer, (me). David had an enormous amount of respect for Willie, who could always be counted on to give the final word he would accept. Willie was successful once again.

Howard and I agreed to look at the video so that David could get our feedback. It was dreadful. Poorly lit, bad editing and hard to follow. Not the best representation of David’s work and we told him that. His cork popped; “Fuck it! I’m getting too old for this shit! I can’t do this anymore, schlepping from place to place trying to get gigs and selling my formats!”  Of course, none of this was the case with the festival, where he was to be honored.  Maybe he couldn’t accept that even though the documentary was about him, it wasn’t his project and he needed to focus on something where he had some control. To David, the documentary represented the past, Life-Play, the present and future. So that evening the three of us in an instant went from a loving reunion to a lot of yelling and “fuck you!”

Next morning, I greeted David with my usual “Good morning, Mr. Shepherd. How are we today?” David somberly replied, “I can’t wait for this day to be over.” I laughed; “Atta boy. That’s the spirit.” My approach whenever David was in the dark zone was to treat his every response with optimism, love and humor.  Howard was already on his way to Boston to catch some shows before our screening.

Once we were in the car and on the road, (me at the wheel, David in the passenger seat and Nancy in the back), he relaxed considerably. Road trips were a big part of our relationship and we seamlessly eased into our travel banter – improv, expanding Life-Play, future projects, my work with at-risk populations. We picked up lunch from MacDonald’s on the way, and David slowly fed me French fries one at a time as I drove.  I loved that. When we arrived in Boston, David was wide-eyed. It had been a while since he’s been there and was fascinated by the architecture and people. By the time we arrived at the theatre, David was in a playful, joyful mood.

Well, that quickly ended as the audience entered for the screening. The event wasn’t well publicized and there were about 25 people in the audience. David glared at me and I could see that he was ready to determine that the screening was going to be a humiliating failure for him.  Just then, a young woman sitting behind David started talking about how excited she was to see the documentary. She had driven with friends from Rhode Island, was currently reading The Compass by Janet Coleman (who was also in the documentary) and was hoping that she could get to meet David Shepherd.  I turned around and said, “Are you aware that the father of improvisation is sitting right in front of you?” She exploded with excitement. A sly smile appeared on David’s face as she showered him with appreciation. After they talked a bit, David turned around and the house lights started to dim. I leaned over to David and whispered, “that didn’t suck, did it?”  “No. It did not.” He patted my knee affectionately.

This was the third time I had watched the documentary from start to finish with David and he’s always totally engrossed. I could only imagine what memories sparked inside him with every viewing.  The audience while small, was extremely responsive.  As the end credits rolled, David whispered, “that was excellent.” His standard response, always with a tinge of amazement in it.  I was happy to see Carman Dewees at the screening. He, along with Chris Britt, developed Life-Play with David. Carman and David had a falling out due to David’s unreasonable demands (a constant with partners David has collaborated with over the years) and had not spoken for some time.  David was sincerely pleased to see Carman and the two had a warm, brief reconciliation.  After they spoke, David confided in me that he accepted full responsibility for Carman leaving Life-Play. Carman was solely responsible for the launch and initial success of Life-Play, recruiting players, setting up conference calls and putting together a polished handbook of the format’s games with essays from me, David, Howard and himself. David realized he had let a gem slip through his fingers.

The Q & A portion went well, as did the Life-Play demonstration, which I conducted with volunteers from the audience. David and Howard side-coached some of the games. Originally scheduled for ten minutes, I ended up doing a half hour because it was going so well. Jeremiah Jordan, the artistic director of the festival who was watching from the side gave me the okay. When it was over, we had to quickly leave the theatre for the next event to set up. The audience followed us out into the lobby, enveloping David with attention, then outside the theatre, then joined us for dinner at a restaurant down the block.  David was energized, talking improv and meeting new people. 

Q&A moderated by Jeremiah Jordan with Michael Golding, Nancy Fletcher, David Shepherd and Howard Jerome.

Setting up Life-Play guidelines with two volunteers.

David Shepherd and Howard Jerome side-coach two volunteers playing a Life-Play game.

Driving home, I fielded calls from Mike Fly and Willie Wyllie.  It was a ninety-minute drive and I was pushing the speed a bit. With David holding the phone to my ear and Willie draining me for every detail, I tell my improv brother that “the life of the father of improvisation is in my hands right now so maybe I should focus on my driving.” For the rest of the drive, we talked about all the new people we met at the screening and how David was going to recruit them for future projects. He had given out all his business cards. He was happy.   

Back at the house, Nancy goes immediately to bed and David and I stay up for a while, sharing a joint. Yes, I was smoking with an 87-year old man. It was a long active day. Navigating David’s emotional minefields can be draining, but now I was getting stoned, playful, fun, David. It made the day worthwhile for me.

After we say our goodnights I walk towards my room. David sings out “Michael!”

“Yes, David?”

“You’re an excellent workshop director.”

“Thank you, David. I had a great teacher.”

“Thank you.”

For a moment I thought about screwing around with him by adding “Oh, you thought I meant you?” But it would have ruined a perfect moment. And it would have been a lie.

Next morning David wanted to know when we were going on our next road trip.

David Shepherd, Michael Golding, Howard Jerome and Nancy Fletcher at ImprovBoston, 2011.

Michael Golding is a writer, director and improv teacher. He can be contacted for workshops, festivals and private consultations at migaluch@yahoo.com.  Michael participated in the evolution of the Improv Olympics and Canadian Improv Games. Artistic director of the Comic Strip Improv Group in N.Y. and created the Insight Theatre Company for Planned Parenthood, Ottawa. He is a faculty member at El Camino College in Los Angeles, working with at-risk teens and traditional students. He wrote and co-produced the documentary "David Shepherd: A Lifetime of Improvisational Theatre" (available for free on YouTube). His book, "Listen Harder," a collection of essays, curriculum and memorabilia on improvisation and educational theatre is available on Amazon, Barnes & Noble and CreateSpace. Michael holds a BFA degree in Drama from New York University's Tisch School of the Arts and an MA degree in Educational Theatre from NYU's Steinhardt School of Culture, Education and Human Development.   

Improv Mid-Life Crisis By Michael Golding

A little over two months ago I was struck by a car while cycling, resulting in surgery to repair a fractured collarbone. A titanium plate with ten screws has become a permanent fixture in my body. Now half man, half machine, I will be setting off metal detectors when I fly in the future. If a doctor’s note isn’t sufficient for security, believe me, I am prepared to show my scar. 

 

Unfortunately, I had to postpone a trip to David Shepherd’s home in Western Massachusetts to finish his improv archive project. David is the father of modern day improvisation and over sixty years of materials from his collection were going to be donated to an institution which will be accessible to the public. For now, the project is on the back burner. It will get done, hopefully within the next few months.

A major concern during recovery was whether I would be able to teach in the fall.  The college I work for has a high school outreach program, where I teach an after school theatre appreciation course for at-risk teens who receive college credit. I was offered only one course this semester, which meets two afternoons a week from 3:30pm – 5:40pm. The objectives of the course are explored primarily through theatre games.  I was uncertain that my stamina was up to the challenge and for the first time wondered if I was getting too old to work with this age group. Weeks of pain medication diminished my focus and passion. I simply wasn’t looking forward to the class. Was it possible that I was experiencing an improv mid-life crisis?

When I addressed that concern with my surgeon, he laughed and said “unless you’re teaching gym, you’ll be fine.” Obviously the man was unaware of the population I work with, or how physical I can be when conducting a workshop. Discussing the matter with my improv friends, Shepherd, Ed Asner, Nancy Fletcher (creator of Act Now, an improvised movie format for adolescent girls) and Howard Jerome (co-creator of the Improv Olympics and Canadian Improv Games) they were unanimous in their advice; pace yourself, sit down, and bark out orders.  Brave new world for me. Anticipating the round-trip commute to the high school in Compton on the notoriously congested highway filled me with anxiety and dread. The shoulder strap across my tender collarbone still causes discomfort, especially when I make sudden maneuvers or stops.

With improv consultant Ed Asner

It was a physical challenge conducting the first two sessions, lecturing more than I usually do, which only has a shelf life of a few minutes for the students. It may look like they’re nodding out as their heads slowly slump down, but I know they’re looking at their iPhones. I can see the glow from the screens on their faces. Maybe they’re Googling me or texting what am awesome teacher I am. Exhausted, I ended both sessions a half hour early.

I can’t sit still when teaching and my healing collarbone felt the strain. Many of my movements while instructing are reflexive, such as jumping on and off the auditorium stage, which I knew was ill advised.  As much as I wanted to phone the class in, I couldn’t. The students demand moment-to-moment attention. While I have conducted these type of workshops a gazillion times before, it was clear by the expressions on the students’ faces that it was their first time experiencing a learning-by-doing approach rather than listening to a long, boring lecture and it enthralled them. It certainly kept me focused.

By sharing that I was injured and showing them an x-ray of the titanium plate and screws on my cell phone the students perceived me as a badass. I wished my shoulder didn’t look like someone threw a pair of scissors at me to gain their admiration. In turn, the students were eager to share stories of family members who had hip and knee surgeries and what they were like before and after the procedures. All great ideas for future scenes.

Does this x-ray make me look fat?

By the third session, I had more of a grasp on who the students were. There are over thirty in the class, which is not unusual. All Hispanic. Normally, there is larger ratio of girls to boys in my classes. This time out, the ratio was reversed.

The boys ooze machismo. The themes they love to explore are hooking up, going to strip clubs, scoring weed, getting high and gunplay.  Because many are hustlers and have to live by their wits on the street, they’re natural improvisers. They don’t like to stick to the rules of the games and elicit laughs from the class by mocking them. None of this is unusual. They just need a lesson in the difference between play and game. With play, you can do whatever you want. With game, well, there is a structure with rules.

It quickly became a high wire act for me. You don’t want the side-coaching to come off as a reprimand, which either diminishes their enthusiasm or in their eyes a betrayal of trust. “Hey, I was just trying to shake things up,” one student moaned when I corrected him.  Sometimes, I wait until after the session, where I start my notes off with “You’re a natural at this. However…….”

An early observation with the boys was if they don’t realize we’re engaging in a game, they organically play by the rules; listening, agreement, teamwork. For them, we’re not playing a game until we are actually on the auditorium stage. If I warm them up while they’re sitting in the audience, it becomes more personal and conversational. I discovered that with the group story game “So What You’re Saying Is.” In the game, a player starts with a simple statement (“I went outside my house for a walk.”).  Another player would begin by saying “So what you’re saying is,” repeat the sentence he or she heard, and then add onto the story. The goal is to create a story with as many players as possible, chiming in when they have the impulse.

Example:

Player 1: I went outside for a walk.

Player 2: So what you’re saying is, you went outside for a walk, so you could get away from your parents.

Player 3: So what you’re saying is, you went outside for a walk, so you could away from your parents, because they think you’re spending too much time with your boyfriend.

And so on. There are other variations of this game, but this version resonates with the students.

I was amazed by how large and extravagant the stories became. Of course, all dealt with drugs, strip clubs, hooking up and getting high. My inner monologue suggests that in future sessions I should try to steer them towards exploring other themes that might motivate the girls to jump in. Or, I may have to break them up into groups of five, rather than letting thirty students fight for control and observe how the stories develop that way. My brain was percolating with possibilities.

The girls are shy, hesitant and rarely volunteer. Yet, there is thoughtfulness in the way they play, and when partnered up with some of the boys, diminishes their overactive testosterone a tad.  My sense is the boys don’t interact much with the girls outside of class or during the regular school day, so this is new to them – working with a girl as a collaborative partner, rather than viewing them as an object.

When I introduced Blind Walk, a trust game that is fraught with dangerous possibilities, the boys were surprisingly respectful and protective of the girls. In the game the group is in a circle and a blindfolded player walks back and forth across the circle. A student in the circle has to gently stop the blindfolded player from walking into him or her, then slowly turns the blindfolded player around, makes eye contact with another student in the circle, and gently launches the blindfolded player on his or her way towards that student. The blindfolded player has to be as relaxed as possible while walking, knowing that that the circle will protect him or her from getting hurt.

I was impressed. Normally first time out with this game, players are spun around furiously before being sent on their way, students in the circle are making jokes or yelling “watch out!” or someone in the circle might start backing up, or ever worse, step aside, as a blindfolded player walks towards them. Unfortunately, that admiration was shattered when a boy was sent across the circle. Lots of ass grabbing, head thumping, and crotch smacking. It’s early in the semester.

Now, as I bravely tackle the hellish round-trip commute, my brain is on fire running over my workshop plan and the results of it afterwards. It seems like my improv mid-life crisis was premature.  I have a lot of work to do with this group, and surprisingly, I appear to be into it.

Michael Golding is a writer, director and improv teacher.  He can be contacted for workshops, festivals and private consultations at migaluch@yahoo.com. Michael participated in the evolution of the Improv Olympics & Canadian Improv Games. Artistic director of the Comic Strip Improv Group in N.Y. & created the Insight Theatre Company for Planned Parenthood, Ottawa.  He is a faculty member at El Camino College in Los Angeles, working with at-risk teens and traditional students. He wrote and co-produced the documentary "David Shepherd: A Lifetime of Improvisational Theatre" (available for free on YouTube).  His book, Listen Harder, a collection of essays, curriculum and memorabilia on improvisation and educational theatre, is available on Amazon, Barnes & Noble and CreateSpace. Michael holds a BFA degree in Drama from New York University’s Tisch School of the Arts & an MA degree in Educational Theatre from NYU’s Steinhardt School of Culture, Education & Human Development. 

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Improvising over Lunch by Michael Golding

"The development of the games for improvisation are benign.  They are healthy. They are therapeutic. They are what we should all be doing. When you play, you do it with somebody else, which brings you, hopefully, closer to the other person.”  David Shepherd – 1999.

During the late spring of 2010, Willie Wyllie and I made a pilgrimage to David Shepherd’s home in Belchertown, Massachusetts, to attend a celebration of the 10^th anniversary of ACT NOW! in nearby Amherst.  Inspired by David Shepherd’s format MoviExperience, ACT NOW! is a nonprofit organization created by Nancy Fletcher, which builds confidence, leadership, collaboration and character in adolescent girls through the process of developing and shooting an improvised movie.  Included in the celebration, was a preview of two segments from the recently completed documentary, “David Shepherd: A Lifetime of Improvisational Theatre,” directed by Mike Fly, written by me and executive produced by Willie Wyllie.

Willie co-created the Canadian Improv Games (CIG) with Howard Jerome and is the organization’s CEO.  Inspired by David Shepherd’s Improv Olympics, CIG is a nation-wide program involving over 300 high schools and more than 200 volunteers who produce 100 nights of performances featuring 3,000 students. It culminates in a week long festival at the National Arts Centre in Ottawa. I have known Willie for over thirty five years, shared many adventures with him, and we are as close as brothers.

Unfortunately, Willie was at the precipice of a new chapter in his life.  As the result of health issues, he had to step down as a partner at one of Canada’s top law firms.  Unable to travel alone, I had to rendezvous with him in Ottawa, so that we could drive down to the states together for the celebration, accompanied by his portable oxygen machine – which turned out to be a great upper body work-out for me.

When I arrived in Ottawa, I expected to find Willie depressed by the change of course his life had taken.  Instead, I found the same old Willie; self-effacing, playful, and sardonic - with a penchant for putting me into situations that test my stamina and mental health.  We kept the conversation light during our long drive, primarily because Willie slept through most of the eight hours it took us to get to Belchertown. Every attempt I made to get into his head regarding his health was tactfully brushed aside as Willie fell back to sleep.  Even a sudden tornado warning, followed by torrential, apocalyptic rain with heavy winds could not rouse him from his slumber.  Bastard. I say that with love.  He was curious when he noticed the impression my hands made gripping the steering wheel and why I kept repeating “This is the Emergency Broadcast system. This is NOT a test. Repeat.  This is NOT a test.”  
  

The celebration was a success. Willie and I were pleased by the enthusiastic reaction the clips from the documentary received.  David Shepherd was in the process of overhauling his latest format, Life-Play and wanted our input.  Created by David, Carman Dewees and Chris Britt, Life-Play was designed as a series of theatre games to be played over the phone.  Several podcasts were produced, utilizing a variety of Life-Play games. Entertaining to listen to, yet David felt something was missing.  The three of us agreed to have lunch together the next day to brainstorm.

That night, Willie and I were up until dawn hammering out different ways to approach Life-Play.  Willie’s sleep cycle is unlike that of us mere mortals.  He can stay up for days, while being perfectly alert and cogent.  This is usually followed by being unconscious for days.  I now refer to this as “Willie’s hibernation cycle.”   By the time rays of sun beamed through the windows of the inn we were sharing, I was begging him to allow me to finally sleep.  He reluctantly acquiesced, then worked on the format for a few more hours.

Refreshed by two and a half hours of sleep, I awoke at 8:30am to discover Willie sitting in a chair with a bowl of cereal on his lap, wondering if I was going to spend the entire day in bed.  As we drove to David’s house to pick him up for lunch, we agreed that if the essence of Life-Play is about exploring one’s life, then the improv coach (known as “the guide” in Life-Play) must gain as much information from a player about their life before commencing.

At a Chinese restaurant in Amherst, David wasted no time cross-examining Willie with questions that have been on my mind from the start of our trip; “Why did you retire?  How do you feel about it? How do you envision your future?”  Willie was honest and open with David.  “I felt that I couldn’t compete, anymore.”  This admission was followed by fifteen minutes of Willie addressing David’s other questions.  I was hanging on his every word.

When it came time to discuss Life-Play, I asked David if we could demonstrate the refinements that Willie and I were talking about, rather than tell him.  Of course, David was up for that.  Turning to Willie, I asked if he was willing to play, with me as his guide.  To my surprise, he said yes.  I decided to start with Repetition Poem, where a player is given an emotion and a repetition line for his poem.  What stuck out to me when Willie was telling David about his situation was how he kept going back to “I couldn’t compete, anymore.”  So, the repetition line I pitched to Willie was “I can’t compete, anymore,” tempered by resignation as his emotion.

By the end of his poem, David and I learned a lot about what led up to Willie’s decision to retire.  Because he was no longer at the top of his game in negotiating and drafting complex legal contracts, Willie felt he was letting his partners, clients and firm down.  On top of that, he felt that he was living on borrowed time. With each breath of “I can’t compete, anymore,” Willie’s defenses dropped incrementally.

Surprisingly, Willie was up for another game – again, with me as his guide.  I chose Zoom Story, where the player is given an opening line as a springboard for a story.  During the course of the story, the guide can direct the player to “zoom in” on object, feeling, environment and action – while continuing the story.  Since Willie’s Repetition Poem ended with him doubting that he would be around much longer, I decided to set the story twenty years in the future.  The opening line I pitched was “I was sitting in my chair.”

By this time, the lunch crowd was gone from the restaurant, and it was just the three of us.  In his Zoom Story, Willie envisioned himself as a withered, infirm man.  His youngest son Joel comes for a visit and Willie is thrilled to see him.  He attempts to get out of the chair to greet him, but his arms can’t support his body.  Joel anticipates this, and rushes over, embracing Willie, so he doesn’t have to struggle. By guiding him through the changes of emotion, object, environment and action, David and I felt Willie’s frustration with his failing limbs, the scent of the chair he spends most of his time in, how his clothes felt on his body, his exaltation upon Joel’s appearance, and the comfort his son’s embrace gave him.  Despite his physical state, Willie was able to revel in the emotions of joy, pride and love.

When Willie finished his Zoom Story, I asked why he chose Joel out of his three children as the one who visits. “Because Joel is mini-me.”  Then, Willie told us a story we never heard before.  Years ago, Willie’s lung capacity dropped to a life-threatening level and he had to be put into an induced coma.  Things went from bad to worse when his physicians couldn’t get him out of it, and a couple of months later, it seemed like Willie would not survive.  His wife, Sandra, was told by the doctors that Willie had only 24 hours or less to live. Two hours later, Sandra found out she was pregnant with Joel.  Miraculously, Willie woke up from his coma after having a dream about attempting to board a train, with the conductor turning him away because “it wasn’t his time.”  Opening his eyes, Willie saw two framed pictures next to his bed.  One was a picture of Sandra with their two children, Bethany and Ben.  The other was a silhouette of a child with the phrase “Coming soon.” In his opiate caused stupor, it took hours for Willie to realize it wasn’t a movie that was coming soon.

My last observation about Willie’s Zoom Story almost became a bone to pick, with me.  “Let me understand something.  You have yourself on death’s doorstep with your Repetition Poem.  I give you hope by adding another twenty years with Zoom Story, and you undercut it by being infirm. What’s up with that?”  Willie counted off his various conditions, which included severe fatigue due to leukemia and severe chronic nerve pain (the result of his near death experience 12 years earlier).   He was being realistic.

Just then, Walt, David’s 74 year old friend dropped by with his wife to say hi.   Walt apologized for missing the impromptu improv cabaret party we had thrown at David’s house the other night, because he was too ill after a chemo treatment.  Willie was surprised by this, because Walt is a strong, vibrant man who appears to be the epitome of good health. “If you don’t mind me asking, what do you need chemo for?”  Smiling, Walt responds “Lung cancer. Twenty years ago my doctors gave me five years.”  Willie is intrigued. “What do you attribute beating the odds to?”  Walt points to his wife. “This woman. No treatment is off the table.  Every once in a while I need chemo, I get sick, then, it’s business as usual.”  Willie didn’t say anything after that, but I knew the wheels were turning. Call it serendipity, coincidence or just plain stupid luck. I am grateful Walt showed up when he did.

As we left the restaurant, Willie admits that was the first time he had improvised in twenty years. “Why did you decide to play, today?”  With a matter of fact tone, Willie replied, “Because I trust you.”  My cell rang as I opened the car door.  It’s my wife, Jody, calling from our home in Los Angeles. She was just in a car accident, the adrenaline rush had worn off and she needed to hear her husband’s voice.  As I comforted Jody, Willie took the car keys out of my hand and opened the back seat door for me.  I slid in; Willie got behind the wheel and David got in the passenger seat next to him.  Off we went.  Apparently, my job as a guide was not done for the day, yet.

Epilogue:  Willie went into a 36 hour hibernation cycle that night, where no force of nature could wake him. I was beside myself with worry. When he finally awoke, he was ready for the next leg of our trip, which was New York – and was wondering why I looked so stressed.  The last thing I said to David before we left was “David, you were there at the beginning of my friendship with Willie, and now you can say you were there at the end as well.”

I could see David laughing in my rear view mirror as we pulled out of his driveway.

Hanging after Act Now! celebration.  Left to right; Howard Jerome, David Shepherd, Michael Golding & Willie Wyllie.

Willie Wyllie, Michael Golding & Nancy Fletcher, founder of Act Now!

Life-Play handbook. 

http://www.slideshare.net/cdewees/life-play-ehandbook

ACT NOW!
http://www.actnow-online.org/

Canadian Improv Games
http://improv.ca 

Michael Golding is a writer, director and improv teacher.  He can be contacted for workshops, festivals and private consultations at migaluch@yahoo.com. Michael participated in the evolution of the Improv Olympics & Canadian Improv Games. Artistic director of the Comic Strip Improv Group in N.Y. & created the Insight Theatre Company for Planned Parenthood, Ottawa.  He is a faculty member at El Camino College in Los Angeles, working with at-risk teens and traditional students. He wrote and co-produced the documentary "David Shepherd: A Lifetime of Improvisational Theatre" (available for free on YouTube).  His book, Listen Harder, a collection of essays, curriculum and memorabilia on improvisation and educational theatre, is available on Amazon, Barnes & Noble and CreateSpace. Michael holds a BFA degree in Drama from New York University’s Tisch School of the Arts & an MA degree in Educational Theatre from NYU’s Steinhardt School of Culture, Education & Human Development.