Patrick Mynhardt, the best ever raconteur. I first met Patrick Mynhardt when I was associated with The National Theatre Organisation (NTO) in 1952. I was living in Worcester at the time and I was already a theatre-mad aficionado. I toured briefly with the NTO company who were presenting Moliere’s La Malade Imaginaire, in Afrikaans. It was called Die Ipikonder— (The Hypercondriac.) Apart from Patrick who was the romantic lead, the cast was a hallowed one with names that were already revered and well known to the South African public, also others that were destined to be elevated to the ‘South African theatre hall of fame’ in the future. There was: Andre Hugenot, Berdine Grunewald, Sigfried Mynhardt, Johan Nell, Elsa Fouche, Brian Bayles and of course a twenty-year-old Patrick. An incredible group of players. Die Ipikonder was a wonderful bit of real ‘platteland’ theatre that we oftimes performed in Bioscopes (cinemas) with barely any stage to speak of, or if there wasn’t a suitably large enough hall in the town. Wonderful halcyon days! In the midst of a performance and sitting on the edge of a minute stage apron, with his feet dangling inches from the audience, I remember Andre Hugenot would sometimes engage in ‘conversations’ with members of the audience in the front row, “Hoe gaan dit Mevrou?,” he might say, and then carry on with his dialogue. The audience loved it and it was all very informal and never dull. There was always a ‘reception’ in the Burgermeester’s (Mayor’s) chambers for the cast after the show, which the younger members of the cast particularly enjoyed. Andre Hugenot, the main attraction, however, hated what he called ‘those tea parties’. I remember well one evening after the show, he was particularly slow in taking his make-up off and the other cast members were ready to leave and tried to hurry him up. “Come on, Andre, you’ll miss the party!” In his best theatrical Afrikaans voice - with full ‘projection’ - he said, “You chaps go on. I’m not going tonight, because I’m heartily sick of all those cups of cold tea and Marie biscuits, or even worse, that warm beer in paper cups! You go on without me.” Patrick was 20 and just starting his career as an actor. He and I were good friends, but we both had a crush on the same young woman, who happened to be cast as the ingenue of the piece. She was, as I remember, extremely brazen and told us each - as a come-on, I suppose - that she didn’t believe in pyjamas and slept in the nude. This, of course, greatly served to encourage us - and our wild expectations, and as she flirted outrageously with each of us in turn, we vied for and won her favours in le boudoir — on alternate nights! It was an unspoken arrangement that worked extremely well, and at a pre-arranged time late at night when all was quiet, the hotel corridors were treated to the surreptitious padding to and fro of our salacious feet! One particular night, Patrick rather inconveniently forgot that it was actually ‘my turn’, and we bumped into each other in the corridor outside her room. He did a doubletake, was most apologetic and left. It was all quite civil really. Even now, fifty-five years on, he and I were able to have a good belly laugh about it. In 1954, Patrick left these shores for London to join The Central School of Drama. He landed his first job with a repertory company. What followed was six arduous years learning his craft, culminating finally, in his being engaged to perform in two West End plays. He was working in BBC TV-series, as well as doing films for the Boulting brothers, the Rank Organisation, and MGM. During this heady period, Patrick worked with many of the greats: Tyrone Power, Sir Donald Wolfitt, Peter Sellers, Terry Thomas, Burt Lancaster, Anthony Quinn, Richard Harris, Peter O’Toole, Sir Michael Caine and Dame Judy Dench. He returned to South Africa for a short working holiday in 1960 and stayed. He appeared in at least 150 stage plays, and in 100 local and international films. Since 1969, he enjoyed popularity and success with his six one-man shows - A Sip of Jerepigo, More Jerepigo, Just Jerepigo, Another Sip of Jerepigo, and finally, Tjerio Jerepigo. Boy from Bethulie was his highly acclaimed autobiographical piece which, in 1990, he performed in the S.A. embassies in London, Brussels, NewYork, Washington and San Francisco. He also played ‘Papa’ in the popular SABC TV’s prison series, Vyfster. Dear Patrick who, as I write these lines, tragically passed away from a heart attack whilst playing in his famous one-man production, The Boy from Bethulie, in London’s West End. Surely a fitting end to a wonderful theatrical life, and the place where he began his illustrious career all those 50 years ago. Along with all his other fellow players and playmates, I shall miss him greatly. This is my picture of Patrick in David Millin’s film production, Seven Against The Sun (1964), in which he played Private Peters, the Jew. It was one his favourit

is King for a reason. Geno's bright neon lighting is an affront to God! Miniature-rant over. Last night, while watching the Travel Channel's 100 Top Chowdown Places, my roommate Sam and I discovered a diner in Michigan that serves a BLT made with a full pound of fried bacon. The conversation that followed went something like this: "Where is that place and can we go now?" -Hungry Sam "Somewhere in Michigan... I'm in." -Me And thus, our night of adventure began! After realizing that none of us (other roommates included) could make a one night trip to Michigan, Sam decided the only thing to do was to take our passion for the Michigan idea and apply it to something closer. Authentic Philadelphia cheesesteaks (which ONLY come from Pat's)! 30 minutes later, after trying to wrangle in as many people as possible, we were on our way! We got to Pat's around 1am, and after Sam's second attempt at parking was successful (the first ended with him bumping a parked car... with the driver still in it. No damage done, so no foul.) we ordered up our delicious cheesesteaks! I take mine wizwitout, in case you were wondering. One of my favorite things about Pat's is the ordering policy. No formalities of any kind are needed OR encouraged. You step up, say two words (one indicating your preference of cheese and one indicating "wit" or "witout" onions) pay the man and immediately step to the side to allow the next person to order. I love this policy because I understand it and there are some people who just don't. For example, the drunk couple that stumbled out of a cab looking for a late night fix. For sake of ease on this already long post, here's what happened next in bullet point: -Drunk couple tells cab to wait -Drunk woman gets worried because she doesn't know how to order -We laugh -Drunk man tells drunk woman he doesn't have any cash and is going to an ATM across the street -We continue to laugh -Drunk woman tells him she is worried about being left alone with us -Jordan tells drunk woman not to worry, as we are all tired and in pajama pants -Drunk man disappears to ATM -We eat cheesesteaks while drunk woman talks to cabbie -Drunk man disappears... period. -Employee remarks to us about disappearance of man -Second cab pulls up, double parking the drunk couple's cab -Drunk man emerges from second cab, telling it to wait for him -Drunk couple get into semi-heated discussion since they now have two cabs and zero cheesesteaks -Drunk woman ushers man into original cab and follows him in -Second cab is still parking in that cab -The cabbies discuss the events that have just taken place and, content with the hilarity of the situation, the second cab leaves without his spare change of a fare for carrying the drunk man across the street -We laugh and order cheesesteaks for the road We got home at 5am, around six hours after we left. Five and a half of those hours were spent driving and 30 minutes enjoying the best Philly cheesesteak you can buy. Time well spent? Absolutely.