Henry Sutton, was the stage manager at the North Jersey Playhouse, where I was an apprentice and bit player throughout high school. He was born in Burma, to a missionary family returned to the United States to attend college at Catholic University. From the first he took me under his wing, even though I was poorly prepared for the position. He noticed that I had no idea how to use a broom, and that my background had not provided any household skills. With patience and multiple failures he not only taught me the art of sweeping but how to eat with a knife and fork. Henry called me “Mae Darling”, and approved of my very being, which was a new feeling. He introduced me to all of the other gay actors many of whom were personal friends and made sure that the directors gave me small roles in plays. When it was time to strike the sets, I would put on a record and sing Slow Boat to China, the only song that I knew. Henry’s affection was met with my loyalty and reciprocity. When, I left New Jersey, on travels at home and abroad we remained in touch writing letters and speaking on the phone. He moved to Los Angeles, taking small parts in films and television; living the adage never small parts only small players. Many times, I told him how important he was too me and how he literally saved my life during my teenage years. Henry retorted, that I in fact had saved his as well. When I was about to turn eighteen, I fell into a pit of depression thinking life was over. I was fearful of death and could not sleep. My depression carried over to work at the playhouse where I lamented the purpose of life. This derage went on for months-doom and gloom the order of the day. Eventually, came the big day and I was eighteen. Henry gave me a present and a card, when I opened the card rather than birthday it was a sympathy card--for solace on my bereavement. This was the kind of father I chose.