Peter Panned

WC 600

Peter Panned

By Jack Rawlins

On Jan. 23, 2002, I auditioned for the lead in The Slumber Land Player’s production of Peter Panned, a musical parody of the many original Peter Pans. When I flew in for the reading, I knew I was a shoo-in for the role. I, Pauley Patterson—all five foot one inches and one hundred ten pounds of me —was the only one who could fly without a harness and wires. Besides, I am an excellent actor…at least I was at the time.

Other candidates for the role cried “Fowl,” because of my ability to fly. But the casting committee was thrilled. Now they could add a serious note of realism to a fantasy. What’s more, they also liked the alliteration of Pauley Patterson in Peter Panned.

As you might expect, the question came up, “How’d you learn to do that?”

I explained that flying is a skill I learned in the Amazon rain forest from the Parrot People of Pandora. Once I had mastered levitation, it was easy to get around with a few arm flaps, head bobs, and tush wiggles to change direction.

I had a few nasty falls during the learning process, but the jungle floor is soft. I was often bruised, but never deterred. Once I got the hang of it, it was effortless—and fun.

I nailed the part, of course. And the entire cast and crew was sworn to secrecy that Peter could really fly. We wanted to wow the audience and critics.

We opened to a full house with standing room only. We closed with plenty of room for everyone. The critics panned the panning of Peter.

Bess Scantly of the New York Times said, “It’s a tasteless travesty of Peter’s accepted means of travel. It is the height of a director’s trickery to have some little guy in green tights swooping about like one of Alfred Hitchcock’s birds. Save your time and your money.”

The London Times said, “Oh dear! Peter Panned is a cruel deception. What a nasty trick to play on an audience that expects to see wires and a harness. How cruel to subject them to a little man who can actually fly. Where’s the magic?”

I didn’t have to wait to hear from the critics. Before the first act was over, the audience started to hiss and boo. Once I knew I had lost them, I lost it. In a super pique, I buzzed the lodges, the boxes and the balcony.

There was a lot of screaming and scrambling as those who came to be enchanted made a mass exodus for the exits.

Even though opening night was a disaster, the director was willing to give it another shot if I would wear a harness and wires. I stomped my foot at the suggestion. I was not about to be rigged like up like an old Peter after all the time I spent learning to fly. So the play and my acting career came to a screeching halt.


I was despondent for weeks and even thought of migrating with a flock of Canadian snow geese to Pensacola, Florida. But eventually, I realized that even though I could fly, a little guy like me could never make it as a leading man.

That is why, eight years ago I became a docent at the Cornell Lab of Ornithology. Now when I flap around, it’s not to show off; it’s just because I like to fly.

I’m very happy here and it never would have happened if not for that fateful audition that changed my life on Jan. 23, 2002.

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