When one writes these Hubs, one is required to categorize the topic. Not an easy task when writing about Joe Finnegan. Before I get too far into this, I should state that there are several "Joe Finnegans" living in the theatrical world and I know at least one of them is a Hollywood stuntman--that particular Joe Finnegan is NOT my first husband. I should also state that, unlike Zsa Zsa Gabor, I've only had two husbands and am still legally married to the second one. But that's another story for another day.

The reason I decided to write about Joe is that he called me yesterday to wish me a Happy Mothers Day and told me a funny story about his life as an actor. We talked for a while and he was just as manic and stoned and goofy as he was when I met him 40 years ago. I told him I was glad he was in Milwaukee and not in Ohio because had he been here I would be way too tempted to join him in his beer drinking, TOPS smoking, and pot smoking. (TOPS, for those of you who don't know, is a brand of roll-your-own cigarettes. I'm sure he also uses Bugler from time-to-time.)

When I met Joe in 1969 he had just hitchhiked in from California with my best friend's ex- (now deceased) husband, Steve. My sister and I were living in a little roach-filled (insect variety, mostly) apartment on the posh side of Akron, Ohio on Harvard Street. Actually Harvard Street was located in one of the seamier sides of Akron, but it was amusing that the street names were the names of Ivy League schools--Princeton, Harvard, Yale, etc. During that era of free love and acceptance of just about any and every philosophy, Carol and I quite often woke up to find strangers "crashed" on our living room floor--sometimes these strangers showed up in our beds, but usually they were harmlessly seeking a Teddy Bear. Joe and Steve were towed to our front door one day in May by our friend "Chops." What amazed us most about Joe was that the only adjective he used was the "F" word. And he used it so casually! My sister and I grew up understanding that if we ever even THOUGHT the "F" word we'd be doomed to hell for all eternity. When Joe began talking to us about California and how "F-ing" great it was, and how every "F-ing body" was far "F-ing" out, we just stared at him with our mouths gaping like dying fish. He looked at Steve and said, "What the "F" is wrong with them?" Once we recovered from culture-shock I recognized that Joe might make an acceptable substitute for the missing-in-action love-of-my-life, Stan, and so Joe moved in and eventually he and I were married.

Alas, life being what it was back then, many first marriages didn't last and mine to Joe was no acception. When he and I broke up Joe met a girl named Kelli and together they pursued acting careers. They moved first to New York City and in the mid 70's ended up living in New Orleans.They worked various jobs, stayed current with their SAG memberships and auditioned for all suitable acting jobs. Being in New Orleans there were ongoing productions of Streetcar Named Desire and one day Joe went in to audition. Of course he auditioned for the lead, but the director didn't like it that Joe had a cigarette tucked behind his ear so almost immediately dismissed him for the lead. Apparently this director thought Joe was lamely trying to impersonate Marlon Brando, not knowing Joe almost ALWAYS had a cigarette tucked behind his ear. It was not an affectation; he just always wanted a cigarette handy. This ticked Joe off, but of course he still wanted a job in the play so he continued to audition and landed a role as the Portuguese poker player (Joe does fair accents.) By opening night Joe was still secretly fuming at the director so when his scene rolled around and he was sitting at the poker table Joe put on his best Stanley Kowalski instead of his best Portuguese poker player. That was Joe's opening and closing night in the play.

Fortunately for Joe, director Louis Malle was in town beginning work on his movie, Pretty Baby. For those of you who might not have a clue, Pretty Baby was the story of a woman and her young daughter and their lives in a New Orleans, Victorian era brothel. Great movie. Sad account of the nature of emotional trauma that sometimes took place in those days. Joe arranged for an interview, studied-up, cleaned-up and went into the casting office. He was given various pieces of script to read for three casting directors and then asked to wait outside in the hall. While he sat there, probably biting his nails, he was approached by Louis Malle. Joe jumped to attention and thrust out his hand telling Monsieur Malle what a pleasure it was to meet him. Malle said, "Mr. Finnegan--may I call you Joe." Joe replied, "Of course!" Malle said, "Then you must call me Louis. Now Joe, we enjoyed your reading, but we are having a problem deciding how best to utilize your talent. Tell me; are you manic?" Joe confessed that he suffered from manic depression. Malle said, "Good, good. Do you think you might be able to play the role of the customer with the highest bid at the auction for the little girl, but stop just short of manic?" Joe assured Louis he could put a harness on his enthusiasm. As I recall, the bidding started at $100 and continued until Joe's voice is heard above the din bidding $800! There's a gasp, followed by silence, then Joe steps forward and says, "Will you take a check?" The silence is broken by laughter and the madam of the house waves Joe off and says, "Cash!" We never see Joe again. We're left to believe he wandered away, red-faced and miserable.

One of the most hilarious sidelines to this story is that when Joe and I were married he had a horrible habit of doing something called "check-kiting." It's a process of cashing personal checks, depositing part of the cash, doing the same thing the next day and the next until you finally have enough cash to catch up with the false withdrawals. Sort of like taking out a "payday loan" without first asking the bank's permission. In those days the habit was frowned upon and not seen as a criminal offense unless you just never made good on the checks. These days transactions happen so quickly, you'd have a hard time pulling it off--let alone avoiding prosecution. But knowing Joe, he would probably be able to charm his way out of a courtroom.

Joe lives in Milwaukee now, having been relocated after Hurricane Katrina. During our conversation he said, "Did I ever tell you how I happened to survive Katrina?" I said, "No, Joe, I don't think you ever told me. How did you survive Katrina." And he said, "I slept through it."

Luck of the Irish.