I recall going to Houston’s Alley Theatre in the early 1980s to see their production of “True West,” a Sam Shepard play.  There was free champagne served before the show in the foyer. The slinky girl who I took to the show liked that part.

The low rectangular stage was surrounded by ascending rows of seats. Between acts, the room went pitch dark while the crew changed the set. The slinky girl let loose a small coyote howl, and I firmly elbowed her in the ribs.

The story was about sibling rivalry in suburbia. The bad boy son was perpetrating some neighborhood robberies. He stole everyone’s toaster, it seems.

During one set change in the dark, a dozen or more toasters were fired up. In the audience we could smell toast cooking before the lights came up and action resumed.

The brothers fought and things came to a climax. That’s about all I remember.  I liked the uniqueness of the play and admire its author for his many talents and the free-spirited way he lived.