Thanksgiving Day, somewhere in the mid-1980s: Making a living as an actor in NYC during the time of Andrew Lloyd Webber is a daunting task, especially if you’re gawky looking and not much of a song-and-dance man.  Other than the actual living you’re making as a waiter/bartender/cabbie, you take some interesting side jobs just to keep your acting chops sharp.

I fell into a circuit of party performers, folks in and out of show-biz who hit on the private/corporate party circuit during the time of Wall Street’s crazy years.  We would take on personas and make crazy costumes and perform all manner of carny tricks – fortune telling, fire eating, tightrope walking, juggling –  at bar mitzvahs, sales meetings, corporate holiday parties, you name it.  We were paid crazy amounts of cash and many of the performers abandoned their “legit” pursuits of acting and jumped into this area full time.  Not me, I was trying to keep my purity.  But money is money and the rent is always due.

So I got a call from a guy from the circuit the week before Thanksgiving who said that he had the rights to the Archie Gang of Riverdale and they typically march in the Macy’s Parade, but this year, neither his Jughead or Reggie could make it and was I interested in being Jughead?  Ok, I’m curious, am I holding one of the balloons?  Am I doing something like the Renaissance Festival and interacting with the crowds?  I had just scored a good agent and we’re trying to put a career together, I don’t want to jeopardize my chance to play Hamlet for Joe Papp by bouncing down Broadway dressed up like, well…Jughead.  But I found we’d be wearing these huge rubber heads of the characters and dressed similarly as them: Archie would have a pullover sweater with an “R” on the front (for Riverdale).  And he had a sweater for me to wear, Jughead’s signature long-sleeve grey pull over mounted with a big “S” (for Stupid?).  We’d be joined by Betty and Veronica and all we had to do is walk in line with each other the entire length of the parade route and wave to the crowd.  The money was right, cash at the end of the parade, and no one knows that its me?  I’ve been following this group of teen sensations since I learned to read.  Hell yeah, I’m gonna march in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade, bitches!  I AM JUGHEAD.

Like any good actor, I do my prep work and research.  I stopped by the local bodega and picked up a couple Archie comic books, carefully scanning them first to make sure Jughead had a healthy role in each (Reggie had a way of taking over in those days) and spent a few hours understanding Jughead: besides eating, what did he like? What was his upbringing, did he have siblings?  Did he really not like Ethel or was he just playing her?  What was his relationship to his father?  Was that slouch because of his personality or was it a physical limitation?  An actor needs to know these things if he is to really be that character.  Also, I had done a fair amount of mask and mime work in commedia dell’ arte, clowning and Greek drama, so wearing a face covering was a different form of performance, much more about matching the body to the limitations of the mask in a more physically demanding style.  Like any acting job, I’m both excited and nervous the night before and make a few quick calls to family and friends to alert them to watch before resting up.

I arrive on Columbus and 96th about 7:30 that morning and its a party, hundreds and hundreds of musicians, dancers, marchers, balloon wranglers stretching over to Central Park West where the parade route begins.  I’m wearing a pair of Chuck Taylors on my feet and black jeans and I’m introduced to “Betty” and “Veronica”, each dressed in their doppelganger’s signature style, and “Archie” has those crazy orange plaid pants on.  Apparently, he couldn’t cop a Reggie this late in the game, so its going to be just the four of us.  Archie is really Bill, the owner of the rights to the costume heads.  I met Bill a few times on the circuit, he’s an okay guy, not much of a personality and, I found out later, not actually a performer.  He was a business guy, saw all of this party stuff as a business opportunity: he had others make the costumes and sometimes perform in them, and he would “perform” at events that he wanted to monitor.  Which explained his lackluster approach to whatever he did, truly an uninspiring guy.  But right now, he’s my boss and he’s my best friend Archie and he huddles us around him prior to the start with the rules: “Listen, we keep together in a line, Jughead and Betty on the outside, Veronica and me on the inside.  We make sure we stay right behind the marching band in front of us.  All we do is wave, just walk and wave.  We can’t talk to each other, you won’t be able to hear, so don’t try to talk to each other.  Do not take off the head, you have to keep it on no matter what, so don’t sneeze.  When we get past Macy’s, make a right on 32nd street and then we can take them off.  When I get them back into the plastic bag, I’ll give you each a check.”

I was staring deep into Jughead’s big rubber eyes.  The mask and mime work I did taught me to understand the silent “voice” behind the mask, and that voice becomes the sound coming from the rest of your body.  The mask will tell you how you are to move, how to interact, whether or not you’re shy or outward, healthy or ill.  Be the mask.  Be Jughead.  Jughead has a look about him of sincere and permanent “whatever”.  He fears nothing because he is above mere human travails.  Jughead is beyond irony and has little interest in what you say about him.  Jughead knows everything is going to work out in the end.  Jughead is the epitome of cool.  I am Jughead.

We mount them up, get used to the hollow emptiness of our voices inside, and line up behind the Watchung High School Marching Band and Drum Corp.  The great balloons of Macy’s parades are silently floating above our heads, tethered down by their human guides, silently waiting.  Bands are tuned up and making last minute head gear adjustments, flags are being positioned just right.  At precisely 9:00 am, the Master of Ceremonies, dressed like P.T. Barnum, blows his whistle.  The bands begin to play and the long train of Macy’s Thanksgiving Parade begins its march down Central Park West toward its flagship store on 34th Street.  I’m excited as hell.

It all goes pretty smoothly for the first few blocks, except Archie wants us all to hold hands as we walk and I’m not excited about that.  Nothing I know about Jughead says he’s holding anyone’s hand and so after a few blocks I sort of casually lose connection with Archie and I can see Veronica’s done the same thing.  Jughead is an absolute independent, dude, Jughead’s his own man, he does not hold hands.  The crowd’s are excited to see us in the upper stretches of the Nineties and Eighties and as we get closer to Columbus Circle, I can see ahead of me the enormity of what this parade is about: even through the rubber head, I can hear the cheering and shouts of the crowd as each of the balloons passes by.  Now I’m kicking into full Jughead mode and have adopted his signature lean back.  I cock my head to the left and wave at the crowd, they respond back with cheers.  I walk a little further, cock my head again to the crowd with a wave, and they respond in kind.  I have made the connection, I know where Jughead lives: Jughead is a man of the people.  The people love Jughead and Jughead loves them back.

Around 75th Street, I get a touch on my right arm.  “Don’t do that”, says Archie in a small but strained voice rolling around in a big rubber dome.
“Don’t do what?”
“That, don’t do that.  That walk.  That’s not Jughead.”
“You’re kidding me right?”
“No, I’m not, don’t do that, that’s not Jughead.”

Alright, so this is screwed up.  I’m marching down a Manhattan street in the biggest event of the year wearing a rubber head and the guy next to me says I’m not doing it correctly.  I want to be a good cast member and he’s the one paying me, so for a few blocks through Columbus Circle around to Broadway, I play it straight, just walk and wave.  But this is bullshit because the people are crying out for us: “hey Archie!  Hey Jughead, Jughead, hey, hey!”  And all they’re getting back from us is a limp wave, and actually this is becoming terrifically boring: walk, stop, wave, wait, walk some more, wave, stop, wave, wait.  What the fuck.  We’re heading down Broadway and the crowds are going crazy, the street is narrower and they’re packed 10 deep on top of each other, hanging out of windows, on balconies.  They want us and I can’t help but to respond.  I resume my non-chalant strut and head-turn-wave and the crowds are responding to it, big time.  Now there’s a whole cheering group at 52nd chanting “Jughead, Jughead” over and over, so not only do I give the signature move, but I break ranks and strut over to them.  The crowd comes alive, Jughead’s here, and I’m high-fiving the front row as we move forward.  People are getting out of their lawn chairs to greet me and I’ve got little kids pressing their candy into my hands.  Jughead is real, Jughead is their friend and they love him.

I get back into formation and Archie is furious.  “Hey, what did I say back there?  Cut it out, cut this shit out, stay here with us.  You’re doing it wrong, quit doing that”.

But I know Archie is wrong and that’s a tough thing to admit.  Archie is never wrong, Archie’s the hero, he’s my best friend and this is an existential crisis I’m having.  Archie’s paying me.  So I ignore him.  And I keep being the only Jughead I know how to be, mixing with the crowds, high-fiving and slouching down Broadway.

By the time we hit Times Square, Archie is accomplishing the preposterous: his big rubber head is marching down Broadway with a big goofy Archie grin and a big wave but inside he’s screaming at me: “you mutherfucker, cut it out, cut it out, you fucker” all the while with his tiny little wave and his ridiculous little Archie-steps on the pavement.  Betty and Veronica, having seen this for decades at Pop’s Malt Shop, know how to side-step this and stay tuned to the right side of the square and the crowds there, always keeping within the Betty and Veronica boundaries that were assigned to them.  And this is the way it goes all the way down till about 39th Street where Archie is still screaming at me through his hollow rubber dome and finally I stop and yell back: “Fuck you, I’ve done Euripedes and Shakespeare, mother fucker, I’m pretty fucking sure I can fucking do Jughead”.  And the crowds love Jughead.

Finally, we get to the end of the parade, turn onto 32nd Street out of the view of the crowds.  Bill rips off his Archie head and starts into me.  But now, I’m not just Jughead, I am the Zen of Jughead.  I keep the head on, slouch back with that cavalier, devil-may-care look on my rubber face, and just allow him to yell.  Its actually a beautiful scene, this mere mortal screaming red-faced at a guy in a rubber jug head.  “Give me back my head” he screams.  I don’t move.  “Give me the fucking head”, he screams louder.  I respond back: “give me my money”.  He starts in again and I have to get close for him to hear, so Jughead leans in: “give me my fucking money or you don’t get your jug head back.  Hand it over to Betty”.  So he pulls it out of an envelope, hands it to Betty and I gently part from my dear, dear persona who’ve I’ve grown so attached to.  Betty hands me the money, I hand the rubber head over to Bill, and we go our separate ways.

But I looked back as Bill was puffing furiously as he is stuffing the mask into the bag,  for one last look at my new pal.  And Jughead winked.

Happy Thanksgiving.  We are all Jughead.